


WIP File

by LadyLightles



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-22
Packaged: 2020-07-09 11:00:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 179,136
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19886497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyLightles/pseuds/LadyLightles
Summary: The title kind of says it all, don't you think?





	1. Introduction and Notes

I have a lot of ideas. I also have a problem finishing what I start. What happens when you combine these two things?  
Lots of shiny WIPs in all shapes and sizes!

These stories vary in length, subject, and relationships I will include a brief description with each one, so you can see what I was trying to accomplish with it.

There is no smut in any of these stories, but some of them do contain scenes of violence, references to past rape/non-con, or other things that might make a reader uncomfortable. I will post warnings in the summary of each chapter. The summary will also contain an identification of any relationships.

None of these works have been edited, so they may contain inconsistencies, contradictions, or spelling and grammar errors.

Last, but certainly not least: the world of Harry Potter--its people, places, things, and ideas--belongs to J.K. Rowling. I own any original characters.


	2. Miss Malfoy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I began this story by asking - What would happen if Hermione had been adopted by the Malfoys after the Chamber of Secrets fiasco? My intention is for this story to cover 3rd-7th year at Hogwarts and possibly beyond. No set relationships at the moment.

Author’s Notes – 

\- This story follow canon through Lucius Malfoy’s confrontations with Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore at the end of CoS. After that, it goes AU.  
\- The Harry Potter Lexicon states that the fourth basilisk attack (the one where Hermione Granger and Penelope Clearwater are Petrified) occurs on May 8. For the purposes of this story, I have pushed that back a bit and adjusted the end-of-year timeline. The timeline I am using for this story is as follows:  
o Hermione and Penny are Petrified on April 6, 1993  
o Ron and Harry go down into the Chamber on June 3, 1993  
o The Mandrake Restorative Draught is administered June 4, 1993  
o The Hogwarts Express leaves Hogsmeade on June 18, 1993  
o   
Current Wizarding population of Great Britain = 50,000  
Muggleborns = 10,000 (20%)  
Purebloods = 10,000 (20%)  
Half-bloods (Muggle ancestry within the past three generations) = 30,000 (60%)

**

June 10, 1993

“May I come in?” With a start, Lucius Malfoy looked up from his newspaper. His wife was standing in the doorway to his office, her posture erect and proud, but her expression unreadable.

“Of course.” Throwing the paper to one side, Lucius hurried to hold the chair for his wife. His stomach clenched when she acknowledged his gesture with a cool nod, rather than the warm smile she usually gave him on such occasions. Not knowing what else to do, he resumed his own seat behind the desk. The silence between them stretched out, heavy and uncomfortable. Lucius had to work to keep himself from fidgeting. He was well aware that what was said – or not said – over the next few minutes had the potential to save or destroy his marriage.

“It seems,” Narcissa said at last “that the creature that was wreaking havoc at Hogwarts all year was a basilisk.” Lucius Malfoy was not an easy man to shock. Moreover, a strict upbringing, seven years spent navigating the politics of Slytherin house, and over a decade of political wrangling had taught him to hide his true emotions behind a mask of aristocratic indifference. At that moment, however, all those hard-won lessons were completely forgotten as his mouth fell open in horror.

“A….basilisk?” Narcissa studied his face silently for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. Only years of marriage allowed Lucius to see that her shoulders relaxed slightly.

“You did not know.” She said. It was a statement and not a question, but still Lucius felt the need to respond.

“No, of course not!” Lucius felt rather ill. “I would never risk Draco’s safety like that.” He scrubbed his face with his palms. 

“But you did.” Narcissa’s voice was devoid of all inflection and Lucius had the distinctly uncomfortable feeling that he was talking to a marble statue and not a living, breathing woman. Still, it was better talking with a statue than with no one at all. This was the first time his wife had spoken to him since he’d confessed his transgressions a week ago. He would take what he could get.

“I did.” He nodded. There was really nothing else he could say. There was another long silence, during which Lucius willed Narcissa to meet his eyes. Her gaze remained steadily fixed on a point somewhere over his right shoulder. After several minutes of this, Lucius could stand it no longer. “What are you going to do?” 

“That rather depends.” She said.

“On what?”

“You.” She finally looked at him and there was a gleam in her eye that Lucius found both terrifying and deeply arousing. It was the same look she’d given him when he’d asked if she consented to their parents’ plans to marry them. It was a look that reminded Lucius that, for all his wife’s physical beauty, her most attractive feature was her mind.

“I love you.” He whispered. 

“I know.” Narcissa unbent enough to give him a sad smile. “I have never doubted that, nor that you love our son. I….” For the first time, she seemed to be rather unsure of herself. “I know you love us, but I also know that there are times when you have done what is best for others rather than what is best for us. There are times when you have acquiesced to the demands of others, knowing that they would be to our detriment.” Lucius felt himself flush with shame.

“My father.” He murmured.

“And the Dark Lord.” She agreed. “While your father was alive, I had no choice but to put up with it, but when he died I thought those times were over.”

“They are.” Lucius insisted. “I swear to you, Narcissa, from now on…” She held up a hand to stop the flow of words.

“Let me finish, please.” When he had subsided, she continued. “Both your father and the Dark Lord believed that, because I am a woman, I do not have a brain in my head and that, because I lacked Bellatrix’s….enthusiasm…for their cause, I was good for nothing more than keeping house and bearing your heirs.” Lucius could hardly fail to note the bitterness that had crept into her voice. He couldn’t really fault her for it; everything she said was true. “I think we both know I am capable of far more than that.” She arched an eyebrow at him and Lucius took this as an invitation to speak.

“We do.”

“I also think that we both know what would happen to House Malfoy, should I decide to end our marriage.” Lucius couldn’t help but wince. Though the Malfoys were part of the Sacred Twenty Eight, Lucius had done enough research to know that families like the Blacks, made the Malfoys look like nouveau riche. What was more, thanks to his ancestors’ profligacy, House Malfoy was far from wealthy. The only thing that made his marriage to a daughter of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black even remotely possible was the fact that Abraxas Malfoy and Walburga Black had similar political ideologies and had refused to marry their children into families that did not share those same views. All of Lucius’ political and social influence was paid for with galleons from the Black family vault. Should Narcissa file for divorce, the likelihood of his retaining either was laughable. What was worse, the Black family retained legal primacy and, in the event of separation, Narcissa could lay claim to Draco for the House of Black, thereby depriving him of his heir.

“What…what do you want? I’ll do anything…” He was finding it difficult to speak around the lump in his throat. Narcissa sighed and a bit of the stiffness seemed to leave her face. For the first time, Lucius noticed faint shadows under her eyes.

“You should not make such promises before you know whether you can keep them.” She chided, gently. “While I do not believe that my demands are unreasonable, I fear you may find them …difficult.” She leaned back in her chair and gave him a shrewd, hard look. “There are three things I want from you, Lucius.”

“They are?” 

“First, I want you to renounce the Dark Lord. More than that, I want you to actively work to prevent his return.”

“Done. Though I will confess that I’m not sure how to go about doing that….”

“I have some ideas.” Was all Narcissa would say to that. 

“And if I cannot prevent his return?” Without conscious thought, his hand moved to cover the hideous tattoo that was currently hidden by the sleeve of his robe. Narcissa let out a long sigh.

“If he should come back, I do understand that your options will be….limited.” She said, at last. “So long as you have done your best to prevent such a catastrophe, I will stand by you and lend you my support in whatever ways I can.” Lucius nodded, gratefully. “My second demand is this—I am to be your partner in all your endeavors, not merely your wife.” Lucius blinked in surprise.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.” He said, slowly. 

“It’s quite simple, really. As I said earlier, your father didn’t have much use for me and refused to discuss any of his plans in my presence. Nor did he obtain my consent or opinion even when it was my right to give them. I will no longer allow you to make decisions that affect our House, our fortunes, and our son without having my say.”

“I will not be dictated to.” He warned. She nodded, her expression grave.

“That is not my intention, but you must understand that I will not be dictated to, either. Your decisions must become our decisions. We will not always agree and I do not expect that I should always have my way in things, but neither should you. I do feel that this whole disaster might have been avoided—or, at least, that Albus Dumbledore might not have been able to lay the blame for it on our doorstep--had I been consulted.” 

“All right. I can agree to that.” Lucius said, slowly. In truth, he did not feel that he would have too much difficulty acquiescing to this demand either. He was well aware that Narcissa was far more clever than he was and he was rather ashamed that, after his father’s death, he had continued to ignore her. And he remembered that look she’d given him. “What is your third condition?”

“You must promise me that, from now on, everything you do will be for the good of House Malfoy. We must both devote ourselves to building a legacy that we can be proud to pass on to our heirs when it is our time to pass beyond the Veil.” Lucius wasn’t sure whether his mind was playing tricks on him, but he thought that, in that moment, his wife was glowing. Again, he felt that strange combination of terror and arousal. A small part of him wondered if this was the way that Muggleborn children felt the first time they saw true magic performed.

“I want to.” He said, wondering if he sounded as lost as he felt. “I want to, but I don’t know how.” For the first time, Narcissa gave him a true smile, one that reached her eyes and caused them to shine with what Lucius hoped was love.

“I will help you in every way that I can, my love.” Her face turned serious once more. “Provided, that is, that we have an agreement.” For Lucius, this was never a question.

“Would you like a written contract?” He would never admit how gratified he was that she shook her head with almost no hesitation.

“Your vow is good enough.”

“Very well. I swear that I will abide by the conditions you have set—I will renounce the Dark Lord and work to prevent his return, I will make you my equal in all things and will not take any major decision without first consulting you and seriously considering your opinions and concerns, and from now on, I vow that all my labors shall be for the good of our House and our son.” The words hung in the air for a moment, almost as if he had cast a spell, then Narcissa smiled again.

“Excellent. Now, there is much to do and little time in which to do it.” She rubbed her hands together briskly and Lucius sat back in his chair, hoping that his relief wasn’t too obvious. He knew his wife well enough to know that, now that he had agreed to her terms, the quarrel had been laid to rest. “There are, I feel, three things that we must address immediately.” She raised one elegant hand and began counting them off on her fingers. “First, we must extricate ourselves from this mess with Albus Dumbledore. Second, we must learn all we can about how and why the Dark Lord did not die and how his spirit was able to exist in an enchanted diary, and third, we must address the problem of Draco.”

“Draco?” Lucius was startled by this. “What is wrong with Draco?” Narcissa gave a dismissive wave of her hand.

“All in good time, my love. Our most urgent priority is Dumbledore. Now, I’ve watched your memories of the conversations you had with him and with Harry Potter and I believe that the Headmaster has been far too clever for his own good.”

“How so?”

“First, ask yourself this: Why didn’t he simply take what he knew and go to the Aurors?” Lucius thought for a moment.

“Well, if he did bring the DMLE into this, the Weasley girl might be charged with attempted murder…” Narcissa shook her head.

“Any decent Mind Healer would tell the court that the girl had been under the influence of powerful Dark Magic. There is no danger that she would face any sort of punishment—if anything, she would be lauded as a heroine for managing to escape with her sanity.”

“And Dumbledore knows that.” Lucius mused.

“Exactly. He also knows that if he were to alert the authorities as to the truth of what happened, Amelia Bones would have a thing or three to say to him!”

“Yes….” Almost without thought, Lucius Summoned a decanter and two glasses from the shelf where they usually rested. Narcissa quirked an eyebrow at him, but didn’t refuse when he offered her a glass of Ogden’s best firewhiskey. “She’s one of the few people in the Ministry who doesn’t think that the great Albus Dumbledore shits rainbows.”

“Don’t be crude, dear.” Narcissa said, absently. “I suspect that, were Amelia to be told about all this, her first action would be to ask why Dumbledore didn’t close the school down after the first student was attacked.”

“Let alone the second through fourth.” Lucius nodded in agreement. “Bones is a clever woman and she might even wonder how such a Dark artifact as the diary managed to get into the castle.”

“I’ve never understood how that happened.” Lucius loved Narcissa’s “curious” face. He’d devoted hours to coming up with new ways to get her to make it while they were in bed together. “Aren’t there wards around Hogwarts to prevent exactly that situation?”

“Father told me that, because of a Muggle war, Headmaster Dippet made some changes to the castle’s wards to better safeguard the students and to preserve the Statute of Secrecy. He restored them after the war was over, but he must have shown Dumbledore how to make the alterations.”

“But don’t the goblins inspect the wards? Surely they would have noticed….”

“They inspect the wards every 50 years.” Lucius explained. “The last inspection was done in February of ’46, just after Dippet undid the changes he’d made.”

“So Dumbledore could have made his own alterations any time after he took over as Headmaster.” Narcissa murmured, carefully sipping at the firewhiskey. “That certainly explains how a troll managed to get into the castle last year.” As the conversation had progressed, Lucius had become increasingly relaxed, now that the crisis was past. His wife’s remark, however, made him shift in his seat.

“What?” Narcissa had always had a keen eye for detail and, obviously she’d noticed his discomfort.

“It wasn’t just the troll.” Lucius said. “A piece of the Dark Lord was in the castle all last year. You heard about what happened to Quirinus Quirrell?” At her nod, he continued. “He was possessed by the Dark Lord’s shade.”

Narcissa’s eyes widened as she put the pieces together. “Are you certain?”

“I am. The Dark Lord made himself known to a few of the seventh years, who then gave their memories to me.” 

“Do you think he knew? Dumbledore, I mean.”

“I can’t see he how he could have missed it.” Lucius shrugged. “In fact, if the rumors Draco told me are true, then he deliberately lured the Dark Lord into the castle.”

“Yes.” Narcissa nodded, taking a much larger swallow of her drink. “I heard about that business with the Philosopher’s Stone. I thought it was nonsense at the time, but….” She stared off into the distance for a moment, before seeming to give herself a mental shake. “While this is all very interesting and is certainly something to consider in the future, it is not relevant now. For now, we just need to focus on two very important facts: First, if Dumbledore altered the wards without notifying the Board of Governors, the Ministry or the Goblins, he committed a crime. Second, he has given away the only evidence he had of your participation in this latest debacle.”

“What…? The diary!” Lucius stared at his wife, who was smirking at him. “But why would he allow Potter to give away the only proof he has of his claims?”

“He’s Albus Dumbledore.” Narcissa’s voice dripped with sarcasm. “He could say that the sun will rise in the west tomorrow or that Merlin has been reincarnated as the Giant Squid and people would believe it.”

“Yes, yes. I take your point.” Lucius scowled. “He’s the self-proclaimed ‘Leader of the Light’, defeater of Grindelwald, and all that and I’m the former Death Eater who bribed his way out of Azkaban. If it’s his word against mine, there’s no question who the public and, more importantly, the Wizengamot will believe. What are we to do? Fudge is too spineless to challenge him directly, even if I provide him with….incentive. It’s clear the old man intends to hold this over my head…” He stopped when he caught sight of Narcissa’s smile. This time, the expression was completely devoid of warmth. Instead, it made him think of small, fuzzy creatures being lured to their deaths. 

“As I said, my love. Albus Dumbledore has been too clever for his own good. He did not summon the Aurors to investigate the attacks, he allowed Potter to return the diary to you, and he allowed ‘rumors’ of what really happened to circulate. Nobody truly believes any of it, of course, but even his strongest supporters might begin to question his judgment, were they to find out that there was truth behind the gossip. What is more, we now have the perfect instrument to repair the damage to your reputation while we slowly destroy his.”

“What is it?” He leaned forward, like an eager child looking forward some rare treat.

“Hermione Granger.” Narcissa said, her voice ringing with triumph.

“What?” Lucius wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting—a ledger proving that Dumbledore had been using Hogwarts funds to finance his own venal pleasures, perhaps, or a   
witness who saw the old man performing Dark rituals—but that wasn’t it. “Hermione Granger…isn’t she that Mudblood friend of Harry Potter’s?”

“I advise you to cease using that dreadful word, Lucius.” Narcissa glared at him. “It’s best to break the habit now, before she gets here.” Lucius nearly choked on his whiskey. This was, perhaps, a good thing as it prevented him from saying anything for a moment. “Allow me to explain.”

“Please.” Lucius coughed.

“Hermione Granger was one of the students attacked by the creature. In fact, from what I hear, she was unlucky enough to be caught just as she was leaving the library with proof of the basilisk’s identity. Tell me, Lucius, are you familiar with the legal niceties that concern Muggleborn students attending Hogwarts?”

“I confess I’ve never given the matter much thought. They are legal wards of the school, aren’t they?” The moment he’d needed to recover from his coughing fit had been enough to allow Lucius to recognize that this was his wife’s way of testing his resolve. He’d just sworn to involve her in major decisions and to respect her opinions. To reject her idea out of hand now would shatter the delicate peace they’d only just achieved. Therefore, he decided to hear her out and then present his rational and cogent reasons for flat-out refusing her ridiculous suggestion. 

“That is correct. Since their parents are not of our world, they cannot be expected to make legal or medical decisions for the children. The school is given that authority, but they are required to inform the parents of any such decisions and of the circumstances that led to them being made. Miss Granger’s parents were never informed that their daughter had been attacked and did not know that she missed two months of school until she recovered enough to tell them herself.”

“That’s very sad for them, but I fail to see…..”

“Hush. I’m not finished.” Though Narcissa’s voice was still soft and pleasant, there was a hint of steel in her words. “It seems that Miss Granger’s parents were so upset and alarmed—both at what happened to their daughter and at the fact that they were not informed of the attack—that they decided to pull her out of Hogwarts.”

“Can they even do that?”

“Under normal circumstances, they cannot, as the contract they signed with the school is as magically binding as the one we signed. However, I did some research and, in failing to notify the Grangers of their daughter’s condition and of the medical decisions made on her behalf while she was suffering from that condition, the school violated the contract, rendering it null and void. What is more, thanks to that ridiculous law that the Minister pushed through the Wizengamot last year, the girl cannot transfer to any of the magical schools outside of Great Britain.”

“Oh yes.” Lucius rolled his eyes. “Another one of Fudge’s brilliant ideas to keep British witches and wizards from looking for better jobs outside of the country.”

“Indeed.” Narcissa obviously found the Minister’s isolationist attitude as distasteful as he did. Unfortunately, they were in the minority as most English wizards and witches had an absolute horror of anything foreign. “Since Miss Granger’s parents wish to pull her out of Hogwarts and since she cannot transfer to another school, the Ministry has decided to invoke the Manderley Protocols.”

“The Manderley….” Lucius had thought that the surprises were over for the day. Clearly, he’d been wrong. “Can’t the girl just transfer to one of the other British schools? Merlin knows there are plenty…”

“It appears that the person from the Muggle Liaison office sent to deliver school invitations to Muggleborn students has not been as…..forthcoming as he or she should have been regarding the existence of other British schools of magic and the Ministry has not seen fit to correct this deficiency in the Grangers’ knowledge.”

“In other words, the Ministry is looking for an excuse to bind the girl’s magic. I suppose Dolores Umbridge behind this.” While Lucius didn’t necessarily disagree with the woman’s ideology, he found her complete lack of finesse and subtlety to be appalling.

“She’s spearheading the project and she’s doing everything possible to keep the public from finding out about it. Look at this.” Narcissa picked up the newspaper Lucius had tossed aside and turned to the back. She handed it to him, pointing to a small notice that was sandwiched between the results of St. Crispin’s Home for Aged Wizards’ most recent Gobstones tournament and an advertisement for a cure for baldness – Regrow that hair. Overnight! The print was so small as to be barely visible to the naked eye. 

Let it be known that, subject to Clause 15, paragraph 3, subsection B of the Ministry Charter, Miss H. G. is to be removed from the Wizarding world. All applications for adoption must be received by the close of business on June 11, 1993.

“Stupid woman.” Lucius muttered. “Has she informed the Headmaster? She is required to do so….” 

“She has. For reasons known only to himself, he has chosen not to act and he left for the I.C.W. conference last night, so he clearly has no intention of doing anything about this.” Lucius’ eyes narrowed.

“According to the amendments to the Ministry’s charter that were made in 1921, he has no choice in the matter. If no one volunteers to adopt the girl, she becomes a ward of the school. There’s even supposed to be a Gringotts vault set up to take care of her needs.” Narcissa looked surprised.

“I was not aware of that and neither, I believe, is Madam Umbridge. Or, if she is, she has chosen to ignore it. It is my understanding that she has Obliviators ready to meet the Grangers at King’s Cross.” 

“That thrice be-damned fool!” Lucius threw the paper down onto his desk. Unable to keep still, he jumped out of his seat and began pacing. “That woman will ruin us all!”

“Lucius?” Narcissa looked alarmed. “What is it? What’s wrong?” Forcing himself to take a deep breath, Lucius turned to face his wife. 

“What do you know about the Ministry Charter?” He asked. “Specifically, what do you know about why it was amended in 1921?”

“Not much.” She admitted. “I know that changes to the Charter were made due to some concerns about the Statute of Secrecy, but that’s all.”

“Concerns about the Statute of Secrecy.” Lucius gave a humorless chuckle. “That’s one way of putting it. The fact is that the Muggles forced us to make those changes.”

“The Muggles?” It was Narcissa’s turn to look shocked.

“Yes. There were a number of complaints about wizards abusing Muggles, but the only one that is relevant to our discussion concerns Hogwarts. Phineas Nigellus Black was Headmaster at the time and I’m sure you are aware of his feelings towards Muggleborns.” Narcissa frowned, but said nothing. “Between 1918 and 1921, twelve sets of Muggle parents withdrew their children from Hogwarts. He showed a reckless disregard for magical contracts in general, but particularly those signed by Muggles. Those students were supposed to have the option of transferring, but there were those in the Ministry who agreed with Headmaster Black’s views and prevented communication with other magical institutes. In short, all twelve students had their magic bound and they and their families had all memories of magic and Hogwarts removed.”

“I suppose that even the Muggles will start to notice when whole families turn up with years missing from their lives.” Narcissa murmured.

“Yes, and they noticed even more when the children in those families went insane and either tried to kill themselves or other people.” Narcissa closed her eyes, as though she was in physical pain. “Eventually the Muggle government realized what was going on. I’m not entirely sure how they managed it, but they forced the Ministry to agree to the amendments of the Charter. A child’s magic cannot be bound once he or she has completed at least one term at proper school for magic and there are strict rules in place about who can be Obliviated and how much memory can be erased. If Umbridge goes through with her scheme it will give the Muggles grounds to revoke the Charter altogether.”

“Would they really do that? Surely, they would issue some kind of warning….”

“We’ve already had three.” Lucius ran a distracted hand through his hair. “Once in ’79, again in ’81 and most recently, last year. I watched Fudge’s memory of that meeting with the Muggle Prime Minister. He was explicitly told that if the Ministry violates the Charter again, the Muggles will revoke it.”

“What will happen if the Charter is revoked? The Muggles don’t have the power to enforce their will on us….” Lucius stifled a surge of irritation. It was not his wife’s fault that she’d been raised in ignorance.

“My love, how many witches and wizards do you think there are in Great Britain right now?”

“20…..maybe 30,000?” Even though the number was closer to 50,000, Lucius didn’t correct her. 

“And how many Muggles do you think there are?” Narcissa gave him a strange look.

“I have no idea.”

“There are over 50 million of them.” He felt a small glow of pleasure at being able to shock her the way she’d shocked him. “What is more, despite what people like my father and your sister would have us believe, they are more than capable of defending themselves against most magical attacks. Worse, they’ve developed ways of killing hundreds….even thousands of people at a time—something that witches and wizards cannot do. One of their bombs could destroy the Ministry and Diagon Alley in a matter of minutes.” He saw tears filling his wife’s eyes and he knelt next to her, taking her trembling hands between his.

“It won’t come to that, my love, I promise you. I didn’t mean to frighten you, I only wanted you to understand that the Muggles are more than capable of forcing their will upon us. If the Charter is revoked, the Statute of Secrecy will cease to exist in Great Britain and we’ll all be forced to integrate into Muggle society. Our right to use magic would, most likely, be severely restricted and they would probably only allow us to use it to help them. We would be little more than slaves, it is true, but it is highly unlikely that they would actually kill us.” 

“That cannot be allowed to happen.” Though her voice shook slightly, Lucius had no doubt of her resolve. “It seems that Miss Granger is even more important than I thought and this is yet another reason why I think we should adopt her.” 

“Adopt her?” Lucius was taken aback. “I agree that Umbridge cannot be allowed to bind her magic, but why must she come here? Surely, we can find someone else to take her in….the Weasleys, or perhaps Lady Longbottom….”

“I’m sure you’re right, my love, but it does not help us if the girl is adopted by someone else.” Lucius opened his mouth to say something, but then closed it again. Standing, he returned to his seat and gave his wife a shrewd look.

“What are you thinking?” He asked, finally, trying to ignore the warm rush of pleasure he got from her approving smile.

“How do you think he public will react when they discover that Albus Dumbledore, Champion of all that is good and decent, ignored the plight of a helpless Muggleborn student who is in danger of having her magic taken away from her?”

“While I’d like to say they’d stone him in the streets, I highly doubt people would do more than murmur disapprovingly.”

“We’re brewing Vertaserum, Lucius, not a simple Cure for Boils.” He nodded to acknowledge her point. “People will murmur. Old rumors will resurface. Parents will begin to wonder whether the Headmaster has his priorities in order. He’s a very busy man, you know. Why, even now, he’s left the school to attend a meeting of the I.C.W. and the Wizengamot session begins in August…”

“Yes….I see your point.” Lucius mused. “It will be easy enough to get people…the right people…to start questioning whether the man simply has too much on his plate.”

“Now, think on this. What would people say about us if we were to take in that poor girl….make her a part of our family.”

“They would be highly suspicious.” Lucius said, drily. “They would assume that we did it either as a means of obtaining physical custody of the girl so that we could harm or kill her or that we did it to exert influence on Harry Potter. It’s no secret that they are quite close.”

“That is what they would think at first. But as time went on and people saw that the girl was well-treated; that we gave her every possible advantage in life, don’t you think they might start to question their assumptions about us? Remember, the goal here isn’t just to tear Dumbledore down, but to build House Malfoy up. You do know what people—even our closest friends and allies—think about us, don’t you?” He nodded.

“I’m the unrepentant Death Eater who enjoys throwing his money and political influence around willy-nilly….”

“….and I’m a crashing snob with more money than brains.” Narcissa concluded. Lucius noted, with some amusement, that she seemed to take some pride in that. “Draco is a spoiled brat whose greatest ambition in life is to become just like you and we’re all rabid blood-purists who would sooner set fire to our Manor than allow it to be sullied by the presence of someone who was not a member of the Sacred Twenty-eight.” Lucius became sober as he considered his wife’s words. She was right, of course and, though she hadn’t said as much, he was aware that those reputations ultimately did more harm than good.

“Adopting the Granger girl might not help us.” He said, carefully. “In fact, it might have the opposite effect.”

“Oh? How so?” Narcissa arched an eyebrow and Lucius took that as a sign that she was interested and at least willing to consider his arguments against her plan.

“The girl also has a reputation—she’s a bossy, shrewish little minx who cannot resist showing off her intellect at every available opportunity.” He said. “Imagine what someone like Honoria Greengrass or Eudora Parkinson would say the first time she made a blunder at the tea table.” The two ladies in question were the undisputed grand dames of British wizarding society and were notoriously difficult to please.

“I hope you are not relying only on our son’s complaints in your assessment of her character.” Lucius found that he couldn’t quite meet his wife’s eyes. “From what I understand, she is quite clever and soaks up information like a sponge. By the time we’re through with her, she’ll be as ready to join Society as any pure-blood girl. I can teach her etiquette and you can teach her history—I know how much you love that.” 

“We’d have better luck making Acromantula silk out of flobberworm skins.” Lucius muttered. Narcissa glared at him and made a soft noise of warning. 

“Do not allow your prejudices to blind you to the opportunity we have here.” She said, her voice losing some of its warmth. “Our adoption of the Granger girl will go a long way towards improving our reputations and tarnishing Dumbledore’s. What is more, she is, as you pointed out, one of Harry Potter’s closest associates. We both know that Albus Dumbledore has plans for the boy. What better way to ruin him than to expose his manipulations and who better to tell us every detail of those manipulations than Miss Granger? I will also add that the Headmaster will find it much more difficult to accuse you of knowingly setting a basilisk on the students of Hogwarts when you have taken one of the victims into the bosom of your family. Now, if you have another plan that can bring us the same results, I’m more than happy to hear it, but do please stop making these ridiculous excuses.” Lucius grimaced, aware that she was correct. His brain raced as he tried to come up with something—anything¬—that Narcissa would accept as a valid reason not to go through with her plan. It irked him greatly that he could not, nor could he come up with an alternative that might have equally satisfactory results. There was, however, one last card to play.

“Exactly how do you propose to reconcile Draco to this idea? You are, I’m sure, well aware that he has no love for the girl.” He knew their son was Narcissa’s pride and joy and that she would go out of her way to spare him from any unnecessary pain or discomfort. Surely, she would not force him to live with someone he hated. To his surprise, Narcissa smiled again, her anger gone as quickly as it had come.

“Yes, we do need to discuss Draco, don’t we? Tell me, Lucius, did you watch him at the Fawley’s Spring Fete?”

“What? No.” Lucius was caught a bit flat-footed by the abrupt change in subject. “I was rather busy trying to dissuade certain members of the Wizengamot from voting for that ridiculous Muggle Protection Act.” Narcissa nodded.

“Well, I did. I will be happy to provide you with my memories of the event, but, for now, I hope you will allow me to summarize my observations.”

“Certainly.” Lucius sat back in his chair, preparing for one of Narcissa’s rather long-winded descriptions of their son’s attractiveness, brilliance, charm, and all around supreme worth. While he certainly agreed with her opinions, he did feel that she tended to gush a bit much.

“The long and short of it is, I’m afraid, that our son has earned his reputation as a spoiled brat. If anything, that description is rather generous.”

“What?” Lucius was so shocked, he nearly tipped his chair over. Narcissa heaved a sad sigh.

“Believe me, it gives me no joy to say this, Lucius, but our son was….well, his behavior was simply unacceptable. He spent the entire evening in the company of Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson…”

“Well, they are his friends….”

“True, but you and I both know—as does Draco--that such events provide the children of the old families an opportunity to mingle with those they would not normally have a chance to socialize with at Hogwarts.” Lucius opened his mouth to say something, but Narcissa didn’t give him the opportunity. “What is more, I heard him making extremely rude comments to and about a number of the guests, including the Lady Longbottom and her grandson, the Greengrass sisters, and, worst of all, Penelope Clearwater. If you recall, she was Petrified at the same time as Miss Granger and was, therefore, unable to attend the Fete. Draco made no effort to be discreet, so I am not the only one who heard his comments. Poor Cassandra Clearwater burst into tears when she heard Draco’s remarks about her daughter and I had to spend half an hour conciliating Delphine Bulstrode after she overheard our son refer to her daughter as a ‘troll in a dress.’” Having seen Millicent Bulstrode, Lucius was inclined to agree with his son, but was wise enough not to say anything. “Then there is the matter of his end-of-term report, which arrived today.” 

From a pocket of her robes, Narcissa withdrew an envelope and handed it to Lucius. He took with a mingled sense of surprise and alarm. 

“End of term reports? But they’ve only just finished exams, haven’t they?” Narcissa sneered.

“Severus says that the Headmaster cancelled the exams ‘as a school treat.’” 

“Oh honestly….” Lucius opened the envelope and withdrew two sheet of parchment. The first contained a boilerplate letter explaining the cancellation of exams and the way final grades had been calculated and the second turned out to be a list of Draco’s grades as well as a note from his Head of House.

END OF TERM REPORT – SPRING TERM, 1993

Astronomy – D  
Charms – A  
Defense Against the Dark Arts – N/A (see note)  
Herbology – A  
History of Magic – A  
Potions – EE  
Transfiguration – A

Due to the fact that the teacher was not qualified to teach his subject, no marks have been issued for Defense Against the Dark Arts.

**  
Dear Lucius and Narcissa – 

As you can see from the above marks, Draco has qualified to begin third year studies. While his teachers tell me that his practical work is generally satisfactory, his grasp of theory is sorely lacking and he refuses to incorporate the corrections we give him on his essays and other homework. As you are aware, third year students are expected to have a firm grasp of the basics—both theoretical and practical—and very little time is spent on reviewing material that has already been discussed, so if a student does not have a solid foundation, he or she will not succeed in the more advanced work. Third-years are also expected to know the rudiments of spelling, grammar, and essay construction. You may wish to have a tutor work with Draco on all these things over the summer, so that he is better prepared to begin the new term. I will also remind you that O.W.L. preparation begins in earnest during third year and Draco will need to apply himself to his studies if he wishes, as he claims, to earn a place in the Ministry.

I have been informed that Draco’s behavior in class is increasingly becoming an issue. Both Professors Flitwick and Sprout have repeatedly had to deduct points and issue detentions to him for disrespect, distracting the other students and attempting to sabotage their efforts and Professor Sinistra informs me that the next time he refers to her as a ‘Mudblood’, he will leave her class and not return. (Draco’s disrespect is only compounded by his ignorance—the Sinistras are a well-respected Spanish family with a magical lineage that goes back at least four centuries.) 

For my own part, I have not had any difficulty with Draco in class, but have received numerous complaints from his house-mates about his behavior towards them in the dorms. Thus far, I have not been required to discipline him and his youth has protected him against the nastier forms of retaliation that are so common within our House. However, as I’m sure you know, he will not be able to rely on that protection next year. I urge you to take some time this summer to remind him of the need for self-discipline, both in his studies and in his behavior, and to teach him about the benefits of cultivating alliances even with those he does not particularly like.

Finally, I must address the matter of the Slytherin Quidditch team. It was my understanding that your generous donation of brooms was contingent on Draco being given the position of Seeker for the remainder of his Hogwarts career. Unfortunately, I am unable to give assurances that Draco will continue to serve Slytherin in that capacity next year. While I do not doubt that Draco’s passion for the sport and ambition to succeed are genuine, he refuses to do the work necessary to achieve his goals. I will not bore you with the list of complaints I received about him from his teammates, but will simply state that such a list was presented to me several days ago. I have managed to convince Cassius Warrington, the new team Captain, to allow Draco to try out next year, but he will have to demonstrate significant improvement and a willingness to work as part of a team if he wishes to play again. The members of the team and I will understand if you wish the brooms to be returned to you. 

Sincerely,  
Severus Snape

Lucius placed the paper on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I will talk to him.” 

“We will talk to him. However, I think it will take a bit more than a lecture to get through to our son.” Lucius looked at his wife and saw that, for a fleeting moment, she looked as tired as he felt. “I’m afraid this is our reward for poor parenting.”

“But….” Narcissa held up a hand to interrupt him.

“I am just as guilty as you are, although I believe that much of the blame can be laid at your father’s doorstep. He was the one who insisted that we keep Draco isolated from other children, save those born to marked Death Eaters. He was the one who filled our son’s head with visions of conquest and rule and he was the one who taught our son that everything he wanted could be his, provided he waved enough money at it. Ironic, really, since the money in question was never Abraxas’ to spend.” Lucius couldn’t help but notice the bitter tone in his wife’s voice. He was well aware that she’d always resented his father’s tendency to treat the Black fortune as his own.

“I am sure things are not as dire as you make them out to be.” He said. “I…we will speak with him when he gets home. He is an intelligent boy and I’m certain he’ll see reason.”

“You may be right, though, as I said, I think a lecture will not be enough. We will both need to take a firmer line with Draco when it comes to discipline. I’m afraid we’ve relied too much on the carrot and not enough on the stick. I, for one, will be watching closely to see how he conducts himself at his birthday party.” Narcissa looked thoughtful. “Perhaps I am overreacting, or perhaps Draco’s nerves merely got the best of him: the Fawley’s Fete was his first formal event, after all.” Lucius nodded, pleased that she seemed to be seeing sense at last. “Either way, I think having another child in the house would be good for Draco.” It took Lucius a moment to recall that all this had started because he had objected to his wife’s insane plan to adopt a Muggleborn.

“I fail to see how.”

“As I said, your father only permitted Draco to associate with the children of those with whom he shared a political affinity. Severus is correct.“ She tapped the letter. “Draco needs to learn how to get along, or at least co-exist peacefully, with people he does not like or with whom he disagrees. While your influence may be able to get him an entry level position at the Ministry, we both know that is all they will get him. If he ever wants to be anything more than a Junior Undersecretary, he will need to learn how to persuade, negotiate and compromise. Isn’t it better he learn that lesson here and now than when it might affect his career?” With that, Lucius knew all hope was lost. While Narcissa had stated she did not expect to have her way in all things, clearly, she expected to have her way in this.

“Very well.” Lucius sighed. “I see you are determined, but have you considered the possibility that, despite your best efforts, this might not work out the way you want it to? After all, the girl will have her own ideas and opinions about us.” Narcissa looked at him, thoughtfully, before giving a sharp nod.

“I will make a bargain with you.” She said. “We will bring Miss Granger here this summer and both you and Draco will make a sincere effort to keep an open mind and to get to know her. We will talk again after the children are put on the train back to Hogwarts. If she truly does not fit in with us, we will foster her out with the Weasleys or Longbottoms or some other…..more suitable family.” Lucius breathed a sigh of relief. One summer….he could get through one summer.

“Agreed.”

**

June 11, 1993

“….well, Lucius and I simply cannot stand the idea of such a talented young witch losing her magic. As we speak, Lucius is at the Ministry, filing the paperwork to begin the adoption process.”

“I…..Good Heavens, I hardly know what to say.” Narcissa wasn’t sure she’d ever seen Minerva McGonagall so flustered. Even Severus Snape seemed shaken by the news, but he collected his wits quickly and pierced her with his stare. 

“You will forgive my asking this, Narcissa, but the Malfoy family is not known to be….sympathetic to witches and wizards whose lineage cannot be traced back to the Sacred Twenty Eight. Would it not, perhaps, be better for Miss Granger to be taken in by another family?”

“Indeed.” Professor McGonagall nodded emphatically. “I’m certain the Headmaster would be willing to make her a ward of the school if no one else is available….” Narcissa hid a smile behind the rim of her teacup as she took a sip and considered her next words carefully. She needed to get both Minerva and Severus firmly on her side and Minerva had just given her the perfect opportunity to begin that process. Even better, her completely honest answer would be the first blemish on Albus Dumbledore’s spotless reputation.

“If the Headmaster was willing to take on the responsibility of Miss Granger’s care, why did he not say so when the Ministry notified him of her situation?” she asked, eyes shining with innocence. Minerva opened her mouth to object, but Narcissa did not give her the opportunity. “From what I understand, notice was sent to him nearly a week ago. Perhaps he missed it? If he is available, I will be happy to tell him everything I know so that he can….”

“The Headmaster left two days ago for a meeting of the I.C.W.” Severus said, his gaze never wavering. “He won’t return until the 17th and I.C.W. protocol prevents him from receiving communications from home unless it is an emergency.”

“Well, this certainly qualifies as an emergency.” Minerva stood, abruptly. “If you will excuse me, I am going to the Headmaster’s office to use his Floo connection.” Without another word, she stormed out of the office.

“Well.” Severus Snape leaned against the wall, sneering slightly. “This is certainly an interesting turn of events. Now that we’re alone, perhaps you will tell me what is really going on. I have difficulty believing that Lucius agreed to this scheme.”

“Once he realized that binding the girl’s magic would have far-reaching consequences—consequences that could affect all of us—he was adamant that she be taken in by a wizarding family.” After another sip of tea, Narcissa briefly summarized what her husband had told her about the Manderley Protocols and the amendments to the Ministry’s Charter.

“That is all well and good, but that does not explain why that family should be yours.” Severus crossed his arms and gave her a stern look. “After all, Lucius is indirectly responsible for the attack on Miss Granger earlier this year.” Narcissa was too well trained to allow her surprise to show, but she filed this tidbit away for future consideration.

“Does anyone else know?” she asked.

“I don’t know.” Severus admitted. “I doubt Albus has spoken to anyone else about your husband’s culpability, but Potter knows and there is no telling who he’s told.” That was something else that required further consideration later. For now, however, Narcissa had to answer her old friend’s question.

“As hard as it may be for you to believe, Severus, neither my husband nor I are particularly happy with the current state of the Malfoy family name and reputation. Much of the blame for that can be laid at Abraxas Malfoy’s feet….”

“Abraxas has been dead for nearly a year.” Severus pointed out.

“True, but you know what they say about old habits.” Narcissa sighed. “I have managed to convince Lucius that some rather drastic changes are necessary and that bringing Miss Granger into our family will go a long way towards repairing the damage he and Abraxas have done to the Malfoy name.” After a moment’s silence, Severus nodded and his manner seemed to relax slightly.

“So, you mean the girl no harm.”

“No.” Narcissa said, emphatically. “She will be given all the same privileges and opportunities as Draco.”

“Children need more than material things.” Severus reminded her.

“I know. Lucius has promised that he and Draco will make a sincere effort to look past Miss Granger’s lineage and to get to know her. If, at the end of the summer, I determine that they are incapable of doing so or that she is incapable of forgiving past injuries, we will foster her out to another family and simply pay for her upkeep and education.”

“And what of Draco? I cannot imagine that he will be pleased by your decision.” Though Severus’ voice was completely neutral, Narcissa sensed hesitation; as if he wanted to say more, but was uncertain about the wisdom of doing so. She suppressed a sigh.

“There is more to Draco’s difficulties than what you put in the end-of-term report, isn’t there?” she asked, finally. Severus stared at her for a moment, obviously torn. “Please, Severus…I need to know everything.”

“If I may make so bold as to ask, is your presence here today a sign that you are taking a more active role in the management of House Malfoy?” 

“In light of recent events, Lucius and I have come to a new understanding about our relationship.” She nodded. “He has agreed to treat me as his partner and to consult me before making decisions that could impact me, our son, or our House. I do not think he fully realizes this yet, but I intend to take a much more active role in educating and disciplining Draco.”

“That is good.” There was naked relief in Severus’ eyes. “The plain fact of the matter is that Draco is sorely in need of both education and discipline. I have tried to tell Lucius this, but….”

“Tell me now.” Narcissa said, quietly. Severus paused for a moment, collecting his thoughts.

“I suppose that the main problem is that Draco has neither the desire nor the willpower to put effort into anything; not his schoolwork, not the rudiments of House politics ...not even Quidditch!” It was clear that Severus had been wanting to get this off his chest for some time and intended to make the most of this opportunity. “He demands some kind of reward or bribe every time anyone asks him to do something that is even slightly distasteful to him and routinely makes….ill-considered remarks to anyone who displeases him.” If he saw her pained expression, Severus was gracious enough not to comment on it.

“His grades? Are they due to his poor attitude or to a genuine lack of understanding?” 

“It is difficult to say. I know that Professors Flitwick and Sinistra both took his behavior into account when determining his final marks, but I do not know how much of a difference that made. Binns ignores all his students unless they are directly questioning or challenging him, but he is meticulous when it comes to grading essays and tests. I believe that Draco’s Transfiguration grade truly reflects the work he has put into that class. He has, at least, retained enough sense not to try challenging Minerva McGonagall in her own classroom.”

“And Potions?” Narcissa arched an eyebrow. Severus sighed.

“Had I not been….generous, Draco would not have had the marks to progress to third year studies.” He said. He paused for a moment and Narcissa could practically hear the gears grinding in his head as he searched for words. “I was unsure of Lucius’ intentions now that Abraxas is no longer with us, so I was not entirely….forthcoming in the letter I sent. While Draco has always treated me with the utmost respect and has honored my request that he not be overly…familiar…in class, he takes delight in sabotaging the work of others and generally making a nuisance of himself. I have spoken with him, privately, about this on several occasions, but he has persisted in this behavior, assuming—correctly—that I will not deduct House Points or assign detentions. Narcissa, I cannot allow this to continue next year. It is simply too dangerous….”

“I am surprised you allowed it to continue this long.” Narcissa looked at him with narrowed eyes. She’d long suspected that Severus Snape was a man with complicated loyalties and this news was simply adding fuel to that particular fire. Severus shrugged in a manner that Narcissa supposed was meant to appear casual.

“I owe my job to Albus Dumbledore and Lucius is on the Board of Governors. And I am….”

“…a Slytherin.” Narcissa finished. “I will admit that I was not expecting this. You mentioned that Draco is having trouble with his social interactions.” Severus gave her a look out of the corner of his eye that spoke volumes. Narcissa braced herself for what was to come.

“I have no doubt that Draco received extensive instruction in etiquette and decorum, but I am afraid that his tutors neglected to adequately inform him about when such niceties as politeness and civil behavior are required.” Narcissa gave up her attempts to hide her increasing distress and began massaging her temples.

“Severus, please stop speaking in Slytherin and just say what you mean.” She moaned.

“Draco treats anyone who disagrees with him or fails to treat him with the reverence he feels is his due as an enemy. In his mind, enemies are to be destroyed, rather than ignored or conciliated. Since even he is not foolish enough to regularly flout our rules about hexing other students, his weapon of choice has been his mouth. Draco insults everyone he considers to be an enemy—both behind their back and to their face—regardless of their age, lineage, or status. When they respond in kind or find some other means of retaliation, his favorite phrase is ‘My father will hear about this.’ It’s become something of a joke in the Common room, but Draco does not appear to have any idea that there are many who fail to see the humor in the situation. He seems to believe that his father’s name and fortune make him untouchable. We both know that isn’t true. I have reminded the older students that they cannot punish rising third-years for gaffes they’ve already committed, but if Draco does not learn some self-control before the beginning of next term, he will be in the Hospital Wing within a week of his return to the castle.”

“We plan to speak to Draco as soon as he is home….” Narcissa began.

“That will not be enough.” Severus interrupted.

“I know that.” Narcissa had to take a deep, calming breath before continuing. “I intend to drum a measure of discipline into my son this summer if it kills me. My main obstacle,, at the moment, is that Lucius does not think that the problem is serious.” Severus nodded in understanding. 

“Do you think it wise to introduce another child into such a….volatile situation? Especially one who has not been raised in the same type of household?”

“I have given the matter a great deal of thought and I think that this is the only plan that has any likelihood of succeeding in the time we have been given. I will spend this summer working with both children on matters related to etiquette, decorum, and the social niceties. Draco is highly competitive and will not tolerate Miss Granger outshining him in these lessons.”

“What about academic subjects?” Severus asked, with some curiosity. “Will you teach those as well or do you plan to hire a tutor? Draco will not get through the third year curriculum without adequate review and preparation and Miss Granger, though quite intelligent, did miss classes for two months.”

“My original intent was to persuade you to agree to come to the Manor this summer.” Narcissa nearly burst out laughing at the horrified expression on Severus’ face. “Be at ease, Severus, I realize now that it was a horrible idea.”

“Indeed.” He made no attempt to hide his relief, which Narcissa chose to interpret as a sign of his trust in her. His expression became thoughtful. “If I may make a recommendation?”

“Please!”

“Septima Vector. She teaches Arithmancy and, thus, has not had either child in her class. While the Vectors are not ‘Sacred Twenty Eight’, that is more a matter of money than of lineage….”

“Oh, Severus…” Narcissa sighed. “You know that isn’t important to me…not now….”

“But it is important to Draco.” Severus pointed out. “I can promise you that he will refuse to listen to—or learn from—someone he does not respect and, like it or not, he will not respect someone whose ancestry is not as ‘good’ as he thinks his is. While she was raised in the magical world, Madam Vector has always enjoyed working with the Muggleborn students and has, I believe, spent some time in Muggle schools. She is a stickler for manners and decorum and does not tolerate bigotry of any kind—inside the classroom or out. What is more, she will not hold Lucius’ past against him or the children, which is more than I can say for most of the teachers in this school. Madam Vector is an excellent teacher and more than qualified to tutor two rising third-years in the core subjects. I think she would be good for both children.”

“Oh?” Narcissa leaned forward, not bothering to hide her eagerness. “In what ways?’

“I believe she will be able to differentiate between the material Draco truly does not comprehend and the material he has just been too lazy to learn. She will have patience with the former and none with the latter. As for Miss Granger…well, the girl needs to be challenged academically, but she lacks understanding about some of the fundamentals of the magical world.” Narcissa considered this carefully.

“Do you think Madam Vector would be willing to give up her summer to be a tutor?” she asked.

“She is a widow and, as far as I know, has no close family ties.” Severus said. “She often complains that her summers are dull, so she may enjoy the challenge. So long as she is not made to feel like a prisoner at the Manor and is adequately compensated for her time, I believe she would look kindly on any offer you made to her.”

“Thank you.” Narcissa nodded. “I will think on what you have said and speak with Lucius about it.” Severus nodded, but still looked troubled.

“All this is well and good, Narcissa, but what happens when they return to school and Draco is out from under your watchful gaze?” Narcissa’s jaw tightened.

“I have a plan to ensure his continued good behavior.” After a moment, Severus realized that she wasn’t going to say any more and nodded.

“Very well. When do you plan to tell Draco about the adoption?”

“I wanted to ask for your advice about that.” Narcissa was grateful that Severus didn’t press the issue. “I intend to tell Miss Granger today, if possible, so that she can become reconciled to her situation before she arrives at the Manor. However, I am not certain how and when to break the news to Draco. I would do it today, but from what I understand, he and Miss Granger are….less than cordial.” Severus snorted with amusement.

“As always, Narcissa, you are a master of understatement. They cannot stand one another! Honesty compels me to admit that most of the blame for their mutual antagonism lies at Draco’s feet. Not only is Miss Granger of non-magical lineage, but she is friends with Potter and Weasley—neither of whom willingly tolerate Draco’s nonsense. He goes out of his way to insult and belittle her at every opportunity.” Narcissa sighed again. “I think that you ought to send Draco a letter outlining the general situation, but refrain from identifying Miss Granger as the student you are adopting.”

“A letter? Would it not be easier to meet with him, since I am already here….?” Severus shook his head. 

“I do not think that would be wise. As I said, I think you should inform Draco of the general situation, but leave out any particulars. You know how rare parental visits are and I fear that, should you see him today, Draco will boast about it to his house-mates. Some of the older students who have relatives in the Ministry might work out that you are adopting Miss Granger and I do not believe that your son has the self-control to behave properly for the remainder of the term, should he have that information. What is more, you know how certain members of my house will feel about a Muggleborn being adopted into one of the older families. It’s best if you send the letter so that Draco will not be surprised by the adoption when he returns home, merely by the identity of the adoptee.” Narcissa nodded her acceptance of his advice, silently cursing her late father-in-law for the damage he’d done to her son. Pushing the problem to the back of her mind, she brought up the other subject she wanted to discuss privately.

“What can you tell me about Miss Granger?”

“For starters, her name is Hermione. Muggle adults tend to address children by their first names except on formal occasions or in certain types of relationships, such as that between teachers and students.” Severus eyed her, carefully. “You do not have much experience with Muggles or Muggleborn witches and wizards, do you?”

“No.” Narcissa shrugged. “I cannot say that I have met any Muggles and I….er….spent most of my time at Hogwarts with my house-mates. Why? Surely they cannot be that different….”

“You will find that, in many ways, Miss Granger is like most girls her age—witch or Muggle. She is brimming with self-confidence, completely incapable of viewing any moral or ethical issue in anything but the simplest of terms, and is convinced that she knows more than almost every adult with whom she comes into contact. With regards to my last point she is, sadly, correct. It is not an exaggeration to say that the girl is brilliant. I am not certain, but I think she may have a photographic memory…”

“A what?”

“Forgive me – it’s the expression Muggles use to describe people who can literally remember everything they’ve ever seen or read.” Severus paused, then snapped his fingers. “Do you remember Adrian de Vere? He was in his third year when we started Hogwarts….”

“Oh yes. I understand.” Narcissa recalled the lanky, blonde boy who’d always had his nose in a book. Though he wasn’t from a particularly important family and didn’t play Quidditch, the older students left him alone because he was almost single-handedly responsible for all the points his year earned in classes. If Miss Granger…Hermione….had the same gifts and interests, it was all to the good. Lucius had never said anything, but Narcissa knew that he had always been rather disappointed that Draco has not taken more of an interest in scholarly pursuits. “Is she capable of more than simple memorization?”

“Indubitably, though Minerva can speak to that better than I can. Despite her brilliance, Miss Granger is almost completely ignorant of wizarding culture and customs. This is, I should point out, not entirely her fault. Unless they are fortunate enough to befriend a student from a wizarding family who is willing to invite them home for holidays, Muggleborns have very little opportunity to see and experience the wizarding world before they graduate from Hogwarts. The Headmaster and the Ministry have made sure of that.” He grimaced.

“Surely she’s taken the Muggleborn Orientation class….?”

“Narcissa, that class is run by the Ministry.” Severus rolled his eyes.

“Fair point.” She conceded. “Hermione has no friends who can assist her?” Narcissa found that rather troubling.

“She spends most of her time with Potter and the Weasleys. Potter is just as clueless as she is and the Weasleys are quite…er…casual about such things. There are only two other second-year Gryffindor girls. Both of them are….well, to take another example from our school days, they bear a striking resemblance to Kessaria Doubletree.” Narcissa shuddered with distaste. That answered her question—there would be no help coming from Hermione’s roommates. “Miss Granger has not had much opportunity to get to know students from other houses, nor will she have such opportunity until she begins her elective courses next year and is no longer constantly shackled by the presence of Potter and Weasley.”

“I see. Well, if she’s as smart as you say, Lucius and I can teach her what she needs to know.”

“I have no doubt, but keep this in mind, Narcissa. You are not being handed a raw lump of clay that you can fashion whichever way you see fit. Muggles have their own beliefs, culture, and traditions and you can be sure that Miss Granger has been steeped in those. They are different than ours; no better and no worse, but different. She will not shed all she has known simply because she is living in a wizarding home and it would be unwise of you to ask her to do so.” Narcissa opened her mouth to respond, then stopped to consider his advice.

“I see.” She said, slowly. “Do you think she will be unreasonably attached to her old way of life?” Severus took a moment to think before answering.

“No, as long as she sees that you are not being unreasonable in your demands that she conform to the new. Be prepared for questions—a lot of questions—many of them beginning with ‘Why?’ and be ready to answer those questions with something more substantial than ‘That is the way it has always been done.’ I believe the girl will be willing to learn from you, so long as you treat her with respect. That means accepting that the lessons she learned from her parents have value and not demanding she dismiss them simply because they are ‘muggle.’ Also, you will want to explain house elves to her as quickly as possible.”

“What? Why?” For a moment, Severus’ face wore a strange, sad smile—as if he was trapped in a memory that was both wonderful and painful. 

“In my experience, Muggleborns—especially the girls—become excessively indignant when they think that wizards and witches are enslaving another sentient race.” He might have said more, but at that moment, Minerva McGonagall re-entered the office. Her face reminded Narcissa of an angry bull she’d seen once.

“It would appear…” she hissed, through clenched teeth “that the Headmaster has been too busy to attend to his correspondence with the Ministry recently. I found no less than thirty unread letters, including the one concerning Miss Granger’s situation and several increasingly strident requests for a meeting from Madam Bones.”

“Did you speak to him?” Severus asked. 

“No, I did not.” With an irritated huff, Minerva settled herself behind her desk. “It seems that he specifically instructed his aide at the I.C.W. to tell all callers that he cannot be disturbed for any reason.” Taking a deep breath, she turned to Narcissa. “Madam Malfoy, I do appreciate you bringing this to our attention. I assure you that when the Headmaster returns, I will personally see to it that he has Miss Granger made a ward of the school….”

“I am afraid that there isn’t time to wait for him.” Narcissa said. “Unfortunately, there are certain persons within the Ministry who would prefer that Miss Grangers magic was bound and her memories of magic destroyed. I only found out about this horrible situation yesterday because one of those involved decided to gloat. No doubt, she was hoping to impress my husband.”

“You cannot deny that he would be pleased by…..” Minerva began.

“I can and I do!” Narcissa snapped. Taking a breath to steady herself, Narcissa gave the Deputy Headmistress an apologetic smile. “Forgive me, Professor, but I cannot allow you to continue with such an erroneous assumption. My husband and I are in full agreement that the wizarding world can ill afford to lose a young witch of Miss Granger’s intelligence and talent. Unfortunately, the person I spoke of is doing everything in her power to ensure that that is what happens. To the best of our knowledge, she has not broken any laws…yet…but she has certainly done her best to keep Miss Granger’s plight away from the public. For instance, the Ministry is required to place a notice in the Prophet….” Narcissa pulled out her copy of the paper and handed it to Minerva. Severus came to stand behind his colleague so that he could read over her shoulder.

“Where is it?” He asked, obviously perplexed. Narcissa pointed the small item out to them and was secretly amused when Severus had to cast a Magnification charm in order to read it.

“The deadline….” Minerva had gone quite pale.

“Is today.” Narcissa finished for her. “While I have no doubt that there are any number of excellent witches and wizards who would be happy to take Miss Granger into their homes and families, both Lucius and I feel that the person who has orchestrated this entire farce may make some attempt to tamper with, falsify, or otherwise delay any applications submitted to the Ministry.”

“And Lucius has the clout to ensure that everything runs smoothly, despite this person’s interference.” Severus nodded in understanding.

“By any chance, would this person’s name be Dolores Umbridge?” Narcissa was becoming slightly alarmed at the waves of anger she could feel coming off Minerva McGonagall. The other woman didn’t bother to wait for a response. “Tipsy!” A small house elf in a neat Hogwarts tea towel appeared. “Please ask Sir Nicholas to inform Hermione Granger that I need to see her in my office right away.”

“Yes, Professor!” The small elf bowed so low that its nose nearly brushed the floor before disappearing.

“If I may ask, why not have the elf deliver your message directly?” Narcissa asked, perplexed.

“Headmaster Dumbledore prefers that the students have as little contact with the elves as possible.” Severus was sneering again. “He doesn’t want them to grow too dependent on their services.” Minerva McGonagall let out a very unladylike snort.

“It’s complete and utter nonsense! The students from Pure-blood families know about the elves already and know how to summon them and if there is a student over fourth year in any house who doesn’t know how to get into the kitchens to beg the elves for more food, I’ll eat my hat! All this secrecy does is prevent us from teaching the Muggleborn students about the truth of the relationship between wizards and elves.”

“Many of the students from magical families, particularly the younger ones, don’t fully understand that relationship either.” Severus added. “They enjoy calling the elves to pick up after them because they know that their Muggleborn counterparts cannot—or will not—make use of the same privilege.” The look Severus gave her let Narcissa know that her son was one such student. That was yet another thing they would need to discuss when they got him home. 

Despite the seriousness of the situation, Narcissa was pleased to hear that the Deputy Headmistress was not as blindly loyal to Dumbledore as she’d been led to believe. Now was not the time to press the issue, of course, but it was useful information to have in the future.

“Professor McGonagall, as Miss Granger….I mean, Hermione’s Head of House, I was hoping you could tell me a bit about her? I realize that this situation will be very difficult for her and I would appreciate any advice you can give me on how to ease her transition into our home and our world.”

“Well….” Minerva still looked slightly suspicious, but there was also a hint of grudging admiration in her eyes. “I think the most important thing for all of you to remember is that Miss Granger is, above and beyond anything else, a child. More than that, she will be a child whose parents have, for all intents and purposes, abandoned her.”

“Perhaps you might consider allowing her to speak with them before they are Obliviated.” Severus suggested. “Give them an opportunity to explain their reasons for attempting to pull her out of the magical world and give her a chance to say a proper ‘goodbye.’”

“Yes.” Minerva was nodding. “That could help. Even if she does have an opportunity to speak with her parents one more time, she will still grieve their loss. She will also be angry and terribly frightened. Nobody—be they wizard or Muggle, adult or child—is at their best in those circumstances. Above all else, I advise patience.” 

“There is one more thing.” Severus said as he, once again, fixed his dark black eyes on Narcissa. “She is a Gryffindor and….”

“Really, Severus!” Minerva snapped. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Minerva, it may have escaped your notice but one of the primary differences between the Hogwarts houses is the way in which members communicate with one another and with the rest of the world.” Minerva looked rather taken aback at this, but Severus ignored her. “Gryffindors are very direct – if they have a problem with someone else, they tackle it head-on. They say exactly what they mean and expect others to do the same. Is that not the case?”

“Well, yes. I suppose.” Minerva seemed somewhat reluctant to admit this.

“Slytherins are almost exactly the opposite.” Severus paused. “We rely much more on subtlety and innuendo and we prefer to dance around an issue rather than confront it head on. That approach will not work with Miss Granger, Narcissa. She hasn’t an ounce of guile or cunning and wouldn’t recognize subtlety if it walked up to her and hit her on the head. If you wish her to do or not do something, you will need to tell her so and explain your reasons. The same applies if you are pleased or vexed with her. Tell her how you feel and why. I think you will find her much more responsive to your overtures if she doesn’t feel like she has to decode everything you say to discover the hidden meaning or agenda.” Narcissa nodded. What Severus said made sense and, if she was being honest with herself, it was how she preferred to handle things in her own life. The more she thought about Severus’ words, the more the Sorting Hat’s indecision regarding her placement made sense.

“Are there any topics in which she’s shown a particular interest?” she asked. 

“While I believe that Miss Granger enjoys all her academic pursuits, she is particularly fond of history.” Minerva seemed somewhat reluctant to part with this information. “Heaven only knows why—Binns makes the most exciting goblin rebellion sound about as interesting as dry toast!”

“And are there any topics I should avoid?”

“She hates Quidditch.” Snape smirked.

“What?” Minerva looked appalled. “How can you possibly know that?” 

“Minerva, when a student brings a book to a match and spends more time looking at it than the game, it is safe to say that she is not a fan. She only pays attention to what’s happening in the air when Potter is flying.” 

“Well.” Narcissa smiled. “It will be a relief to me to have someone to talk to while Draco and Lucius go on and on about broom models and Seeker tactics.”

There was a knock at the door and, soon enough, Hermione Granger was seated in the chair beside Narcissa. By unspoken agreement, Minerva did almost all the talking, with both Severus and Narcissa contributing sympathy and reassurances when appropriate. The girl was, understandably, quite distraught. Despite this, Narcissa left the castle with a very favorable impression. Though there had been copious amounts of tears shed, there had been no unnecessary hysterics, nor had the girl lashed out in misplaced anger. There was anger there, to be sure, but for now, at least, Hermione seemed to be directing it towards her parents and the Ministry. Narcissa felt that both deserved every bit of the wrath the girl expressed.

Towards the end of the meeting, Hermione had finally addressed Narcissa directly.

“When are you going to tell Draco?” When Narcissa outlined Severus plan, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. “That….that’s good. I’ll tell my friends on the train so that they don’t have time to do anything stupid. Hopefully, by next year…..people will be used to the idea.”

“I think that is the wisest course of action.” Severus said, quietly. For once, he was neither sneering nor smirking. Instead, his face wore an expression of deep sadness, though once again, Narcissa had the strange feeling that his emotion wasn’t connected to the present circumstances, but rather to some past experience. “Miss Granger, allow me to offer you some advice. Your true friends will not hold your new circumstances against you. Anyone who does is not worth your time or effort.” After that, there didn’t seem much else to say. Narcissa promised Hermione that she would be able to see her parents one last time, then left the castle and Apparated home, pleased with the results of that day’s labors.

**

June 18, 1993  
The Hogwarts Express

“All right, we’re all here. What’s this about?” Percy Weasley looked rather irritated and Hermione wondered whether she had made a mistake by insisting he be included in this conversation. Sternly reminding herself that it was too late to worry about such things now, she drew in a deep breath and began.

“My parents decided to pull me out of Hogwarts.” She said in a rush, working with the theory that it hurt less to rip the bandage off than to peel it slowly. The compartment was full of horrified gasps.

“But why?” Ron asked. “Hogwarts is a great school! It’s the best school of witchcraft and….”

“I know, I know.” Hermione said. “But it’s not exactly the safest school of witchcraft and wizardry, is it?”

“Sure it is!” Ron declared, stoutly. “Loads of people came to Hogwarts during the war and Dumbledore is the only one You-Know-Who was ever afraid of.” Hermione saw Ginny roll her eyes at Ron’s assertion, while Fred smacked his younger brother upside the head. 

“How can you be so thick? Hermione was Petrified for two months, you git!” He snarled. 

“Ginny almost died!” George added.

“And we almost got eaten by giant spiders and had our memories erased by a teacher.” Harry reminded him. “And that’s just this year! There’s also the troll, Fluffy, Norbert, Quirrell….”

“Snape.” The twins said together and Hermione couldn’t help but snort with laughter.

“But she didn’t.” Ron pointed first to Hermione and then to Ginny “And she didn’t…..and we didn’t…. Everything’s okay now!”

“Mum and Dad were thinking about pulling us out, too.” Percy said, quietly. Everyone turned to stare at him. “Don’t worry, Professor Dumbledore talked them out of it, but still….”

“So, you’re transferring.” Harry sighed. “Do you know where? Maybe you could visit….”

“I’m not transferring. Yes, I know what I just said, but hang on and let me finish!” Hermione’s gut churned as she braced herself for the storm she knew was about to open right on top of her head. Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the maelstrom. “You all know that Hogwarts has rules about sick and injured students, right?”

“They have to fire-call the student’s parents or guardian right away so that they can make decisions about medical treatment.” Percy said, promptly. “Madam Pomfrey is only allowed to treat minor stuff like headaches and colds. If it’s anything more serious, she can’t do anything without a parent or guardian’s permission unless the student’s life is in danger.” 

“Really? I don’t recall anyone saying anything about calling my Aunt Petunia after Lockhart vanished all the bones in my arm.” Harry said.

“That’s because the rules are slightly different for students whose parents or guardians live in the Muggle world.” Hermione explained. “The school—specifically the Headmaster—acts in loco parentis. He makes all decisions about our medical care and our parents and guardians really don’t have any say in the matter. However, once those decisions have been made, the Headmaster is required to inform our parents or guardians if we’re sick or injured and to tell them what medical care we received. He must do this within a certain amount of time after the student enters the Hospital Wing or he risks violating the contract our parents and guardians signed when they agree to allow us to come to school.”

“Contract? What contract?” Harry, Ginny, and Ron all spoke at the same time.

“I’ll explain later.” Percy said. “Go on, Hermione.”

“Well, Professor McGonagall told me that Professor Dumbledore was worried about news of the attacks getting into the papers, so he kept everything very hush-hush and didn’t tell my parents what was going on. He didn’t tell the Creeveys or the Finch-Fletchleys either.”

“What about the Clearwaters? Penelope’s parents?” Percy asked. “They’re magical….”

“I don’t know.” Hermione shrugged. “You’d have to ask them. My point is this – as far as my parents are concerned, I disappeared for two months and they had no way of knowing what happened to me or even whether I was alive or dead. They didn’t know anything until I sent them a letter the day after I was given the Restorative Draught. I think that upset them more than the fact that I was hurt. Anyway,” she hurried on, seeing that several people were about to interrupt her again “they decided to pull me out of Hogwarts. They didn’t ask me whether I wanted to leave or tell me what they were doing or how they intended me to continue my magical education. They just sent letters to Professor Dumbledore and the Ministry saying that they were pulling me out. My best guess is they planned to send me to Beauxbatons.”

“Where?” Ron asked, looking confused.

“It’s the best school for magic in France.” Hermione explained. “The trouble is that the Ministry passed a law last year that makes it illegal for a British witch or wizard to attend school outside of the United Kingdom unless they’ve already taken their O.W.L. exams.”

“What? That can’t be right.” Fred looked outraged.

“It’s true.” Percy said. “Dad says that a lot of people are unhappy about it, but Minister Fudge and his supporters managed to push it through and to keep it out of the Wizengamot.”

“Well, there are other schools in Britain.” George said, giving Hermione a reassuring smile. “It’s true they don’t have the prestige that Hogwarts does, but….”

“My parents don’t know about them.” Hermione was close to tears. “Professor Burbage—she’s the one who came to my house to tell me I was a witch—didn’t tell us that there were any other magic schools in Britain. As far as we knew, Hogwarts was the only one. “

“What?” Percy gasped. “But that’s illegal! There are very strict rules about what Muggleborn families must be told…”

“I know.” Hermione said, quietly. She had considered leaving this part out, but in the end, had decided that it was best that they know everything. “Professor McGonagall talked to Professor Burbage. You know she visits all the Muggleborn students in the country, right? Not just the ones who end up going to Hogwarts?” Percy and the twins nodded, though Harry, Ron, and Ginny all looked rather confused.

“You mean there are Muggleborn kids who don’t go to Hogwarts?” Ron asked. “I always thought that Hogwarts was the only place that would take them.”

“Really, Ron, you have got to stop being so thick!” Percy looked exasperated. “Go on, Hermione.”

“Well, Professor Burbage told Professor McGonagall that, each year, the Headmaster gives her a list of students and tells her to only tell them about Hogwarts. The rest are told about the other schools and, since those schools are day schools and less expensive than Hogwarts, most Muggle families opt to send their kids there instead of to Hogwarts.”

“That’s…..not good.” Fred said, sounding completely serious for once.

“Yeah.” George nodded. “The other schools….they’re not bad.”

“Not at all.” Fred interjected. “Some people say that St. Edward’s is actually better than Hogwarts….”

“But it doesn’t have the same prestige.” This was George. “When the Ministry is looking to hire new people, or Masters are looking to take on apprentices, the first thing they look at is what school you attended.”

“And a kid who barely made it out of Hogwarts is always going to get the job over anyone from another school.” Fred finished. “Even if the kid was Head Boy or Girl.” 

“Who told you that?” Percy asked, looking scandalized.

“Dad.” The twins said together. If anything, this seemed to make things worse for Percy.

“There’s more.” Hermione said. “Professor McGonagall says that the kids who attend Hogwarts have a really skewed idea of how many Muggleborns there actually are.” Hermione huffed. “I’ve checked. There hasn’t been a Hogwarts class containing more than five Muggleborn students since the end of the Second World War – that’s 1945. Professor Burbage told Professor McGonagall that she visits anywhere from thirty to fifty families a year. Professor Dumbledore picks three students from her list and they’re the ones he’s earmarked for Hogwarts. Occasionally, one of the other families will pick Hogwarts on their own, but that’s rare.”

“Thirty to fifty….” Percy looked as though he might be sick. “That’s…that’s how many new Muggleborns there are each year?”

“I did some research before I came to Hogwarts, and again, last summer.” Hermione replied. “Muggleborns make up about thirty percent of the magical population of Great Britain. Nearly fifty percent is made up of half-bloods and people whose magical ancestry isn’t ‘pure’ for at least three generations back. That means that only about twenty percent of the population are so-called ‘pure-bloods.’ Those percentages aren’t reflected at Hogwarts. There the division is more like 10% muggle born, 20% mixed blood and 70% pureblood.” She paused and gave them all a weak smile. “Although the sheer number of Weasleys does skew the percentages in favor of the purebloods. But Fred and George are right. The Minister of Magic, the Heads of all the Ministry’s departments, , and all the members of the Wizengamot are always Hogwarts graduates. They’re the ones who make the laws…”

“And they make laws that make things come out best for them.” Harry finished for her.

“So…” Ginny looked distressed and was chewing on her lip. “why would the Headmaster want certain students to only know about Hogwarts? And is that even legal?”

“It’s a grey area.” Percy admitted. “The law says that all muggleborns are supposed to be told about all the available educational options, but as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, Professor Dumbledore does have some authority to…er…bend the laws in certain circumstances. As to why he’s done it, well, that’s anyone’s guess. He probably wanted to get the best for Hogwarts.” He gave Hermione a small smile to indicate that he thought that she was one of the best.

“That makes sense.” Ron mused. “Dean told me he was top of his class in Muggle school and his parents were thinking about sending him to some art school before he got his Hogwarts letter.”

“But Justin Finch-Fletchley’s an idiot.” Harry pointed out. 

“His father’s an MP and his grandfather’s an earl.” Hermione reminded them. “The Finch-Fletchleys are one of the most prominent families in Muggle society.”

“That still doesn’t explain the disproportionate numbers in the Hogwarts population or why Dumbledore doesn’t want us to know the truth.” Percy said. “Still, we’re getting off topic. Hermione, if I understand what you’re saying, when your parents decided to pull you out of Hogwarts, they were really deciding to pull you out of the magical world, whether they knew it or not, weren’t they?”

“Yes.” Hermione nodded.

“But they can’t do that!” Ron shouted. There was a loud chorus of agreement from the others and Percy had to resort to firing a canon blast from his wand to get everyone quiet again.

“Ron’s right. They can’t do that.” Percy said. “You’ve already been at Hogwarts for two years. To bind your magic now would be….”

“Bind her magic?” Ginny gasped, horrified. 

“Who said anything about binding her magic?” Ron glared at his older brother.

“It’s what they do to Muggleborn kids whose parents refuse to allow them to get a magical education. It isn’t safe to let someone who doesn’t know how to control their magic just wander around the Muggle world. It’s dangerous and it risks violating the Statute of Secrecy.” Percy explained. “But, like I said, they can’t do that once a child starts to get magical training. To do it now would be….”

“It would be a death sentence, according to Professor McGonagall.” Hermione said, quietly. “The law states that if, after someone has started at Hogwarts or one of the other magical schools, their parents decide they don’t want their child to learn magic and be a part of the wizarding world, then the child is taken from his or her parents and adopted by a magical family. All the parents’ memories of the child are then erased.” She felt a tear slide down one cheek as Harry, who seemed to be the first to understand the implications of what she’d said, threw his arm around her shoulders and gave her a tight squeeze. “I’m going to see my parents this afternoon to say goodbye, but then I can’t ever see them again. After the Ministry is done with them, they won’t even remember that they have a daughter!” For a moment, she was unable to continue. Harry kept his arm around her shoulders and Ginny held her hands, each giving silent support.

“Wait….” Ron said, slowly. “If you’ve been adopted by a magical family….”

“It’s Mum and Dad, isn’t it?” George said, a note of hope creeping into his voice. “That’s why you wanted to tell us all together….” His voice trailed off as Hermione shook her head.

“I’m sure they would have helped, but I don’t think your parents know anything about this. Very few people do. Professor McGonagall told me that someone at the Ministry worked very hard to make sure that word of my…er…situation didn’t get out before the deadline to submit adoption applications had passed. She says that there are people in the Ministry who don’t care about the laws and just want an excuse to bind my magic, even though it would kill me.” Everyone looked suitably appalled at this idea, though Hermione noticed that Percy looked particularly disturbed.

“Then who….?” Ginny asked.

“The Malfoys.” Hermione sobbed. “I’m being adopted by the Malfoys.” 

For a moment, nobody moved or said anything. It was Ron who broke the silence.

“You….you’re a Malfoy now?”

“No, she’s not.” Harry snapped. “No, you’re not.” He repeated, hugging Hermione closer.

“But I am.” Hermione hiccupped. “They showed me the adoption papers and it’s all legal…”

“I think what Harry means is that, no matter what the law says, you’re still Hermione Granger. You’re still you.” Percy said, surprising Hermione (and his siblings) with his gentleness. “You’re still the smartest witch in the school, and one of the bravest to boot. Just because the Malfoys have adopted you doesn’t mean you’re going to turn into one of them.”

“Yeah.” Fred said. “You’re still the boss of us all!”

“Damn straight!” George ducked as Percy aimed a desultory swipe at the back of his head.

“Hermione, I don’t care whether your last name is Granger, Malfoy, or…or Skywalker!” Harry gave her a comforting squeeze. “You’re one of my best friends and nothing will ever change that.”

“Really?” Hermione sniffed and wiped her nose with the tissue Ginny pushed into her hand.

“Really!” Everyone agreed. Everyone, that is, except Ron.

“You’re a Malfoy now?” He repeated, slowly, shifting slightly in his seat as if he was trying to get as far away from her as possible.

“We’ve already covered this, Ron. Keep up!” Ginny glared at her brother. “No matter what some stupid piece of paper says, she’s still our Hermione!”

“But…but the Malfoys are evil.” Ron stammered.

“He has a point.” Ginny said, looking worried. “What if they just did this so they could hurt Hermione?” Again, Hermione shook her head.

“I don’t think that’s it.” She said, quietly. “I talked to Professor Snape….”

“Snape? He knows?” Ron looked, if possible, even more horrified.

“Yes, Professor Snape knows. So does Professor McGonagall.” Hermione snapped. “Anyway, I talked to him and…”

“Why were you talking to that greasy git?” Ron demanded. Hermione saw several of his siblings roll their eyes.

“In case you weren’t paying attention, Ron, I missed two months of classes and assignments.” Hermione growled. “If I want to move up to third year, I’ve got to spend the entire summer doing make-up work, plus the regular summer assignments. I’ve spent the past week talking to all the teachers to get lecture notes and to find out exactly what they want me to do. When I went to get my Potions assignments, Professor Snape spoke to me about the Malfoys. They’re friends, apparently.”

“What did Professor Snape say?” Percy asked, shooting his youngest brother a quelling look.

“He said that the Malfoys won’t hurt or mistreat me…” Ron snorted, then whimpered when Ginny stomped on his foot. “He said they know that treating me badly would be counterproductive.”

“What does that mean?” Harry asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

“He didn’t come out and say it, but Professor Snape hinted that the Malfoys are using my adoption to get some good publicity for themselves.”

“That makes sense.” Percy nodded. “For all his bluster, Lucius Malfoy has been losing support in the Wizengamot for some time. He wasn’t able to get the votes to prevent Dad’s Muggle Protection Act from passing. Dad says that he’s so openly anti-Muggle and Muggleborn that other members of the Wizengamot think that, if they vote with him, people will think they’re as prejudiced as he is.”

“So, he thinks that adopting a Muggleborn will help?” Fred looked at Percy as if he’d grown two heads.

“It depends on what his ultimate objective is.” Percy said. “If he’s trying to shore up his power base with people like the Parkinsons, then no. Adopting a Muggleborn will definitely not help. However, if he’s trying to cultivate alliances with some of the older families that don’t hold with such nonsense—like the Bones, the Selwyns, or the MacMillans—then adopting a Muggleborn rather than leaving her to have her magic bound sends a very powerful message. The Malfoys will want to reinforce that message by treating Hermione very well. Besides, there’s no way that they can keep this quiet. I’ll bet that the Prophet runs a big front-page article about the adoption some time in the next few days. The Malfoys aren’t stupid….”

“Draco is.” Harry muttered. 

“Hear, hear!” Fred laughed.

“Well, yes, but Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy aren’t.” Percy said, firmly. “They know that everyone’s going to be watching them. They won’t dare hurt Hermione.” Everyone seemed relieved, except Ron, who was now trying so hard to get as far away from Hermione as possible that he was practically in Fred’s lap.

“Knock it off, Ron!” Fred growled.

“Yeah, it’s not like Hermione is contagious.” George gave his little brother a none-too-gentle shove, which sent him sprawling on the floor of the compartment.

“Speaking of Draco…” Ginny looked thoughtful.

“Must we?” Harry asked.

“What does he think about all this?” Ginny pointedly ignored the interruption. “I can’t imagine that he’s thrilled about any of this, but he’d been pretty quiet since…..well….for the past couple of weeks.”

“He doesn’t know yet.” Hermione grimaced. “I gather that his parents have told him that they are adopting another child, but not who that child is. For all I know, he thinks his new sibling is a baby.”

“Well, they can’t hide it forever.” Fred pointed out.

“Yeah, as stupid as he is, even Draco might realize that something is going on when you go home with his family.” George snickered.

“I can’t tell you how much I’m not looking forward to that.” Hermione moaned. She received sympathetic looks from around the cabin. Ron, meanwhile, was staring at Hermione as if he’d never seen her before.

“You’re one of them now.” He said, slowly. “You….you traitor! How could you let this happen?” 

“Shut it, Ron!” In Hermione’s experience, Harry didn’t get really angry very often; only when he was talking about Voldemort or, occasionally, Professor Snape. Now, however, he was glaring at his best mate and there was real heat in his eyes. “You heard Hermione, she didn’t know this was happening until it was all done.” 

“So?” Ron shot back. “She knows now.”

“And what, exactly, am I supposed to do, Ron? Refuse to be adopted? Let the Ministry bind my magic?”

“Yes!” There was a moment of shocked silence as everyone stared at Ron.

“Ron” Percy said, slowly “Hermione wasn’t exaggerating when she said that binding her magic now would basically be sentencing her to death.”

“What do you mean, Percy?” Ginny asked, sounding frightened and clutching Hermione’s hand more tightly.

“No one’s quite sure why, but binding a person’s magic after he or she has started to learn how to control it….well, it does something funny to that person’s brain. That’s why a person’s magic isn’t bound even if they get expelled from Hogwarts or commit a really serious crime. Most of the time, the people with bound magic end up killing themselves within a few years.”

“She’d be better off dead than a Malfoy!” Ron shouted.

“No!” Percy grabbed George’s arm while Hermione grabbed Ginny’s. Both irate siblings had drawn their wands.

“If you cast a Bat-bogey in here, we’ll all end up with slime on us.” Hermione said to Ginny, who looked rather abashed at not having thought of that herself.

“You know Mum will be upset if you hex bits of him off before she gets a crack at him.” Percy said, giving George a significant look. There was a moment of silence while Percy and the twins seemed to communicate with one another using nothing but their eyebrows and the corners of their mouths, before George nodded and lowered his wand. “Right.” Percy stood. “I’m sorry, Hermione, but I have to go on patrol. Ron, you have a choice. You can either come with me or you can stay here.” Ron took one look at the twins, who were leering menacingly at him, gulped and stood as well.

“I…I think I’ll go with you.” He said.

“Good choice.” Placing a hand on his youngest brother’s shoulder, Percy pushed him out of the compartment before turning back to look at Hermione.

“It’ll be all right, Hermione.” He said, quietly. “We’ll talk to Mum and Dad. They’ll help….I know they will.”

**

Platform 9 and ¾

As usual, the station platform was crowded with parents waiting for the arrival of the Hogwarts Express. Narcissa had insisted that they arrive early, but now she was beginning to wonder if that had been such a good idea. Lucius was clearly unhappy, which did not bode well for the rest of the day. He had promised to make a sincere effort to get to know Hermione and to incorporate her into the Malfoy family, but looking at him now, Narcissa realized that this might simply be beyond him. She stifled a sigh of frustration. The world was changing and if Lucius couldn’t accept at least some of those changes, there was a real danger that the Malfoys would be left behind. 

“Here comes the train.” Lucius murmured. They watched the scarlet steam engine pulling into the station and Narcissa couldn’t help but echo her husband’s sneer of disgust at the sight of all the ill-bred children who were sticking their heads out of the windows, shouting and waving to their parents. A properly brought up young witch or wizard would never make such a public spectacle of themselves. Finally, the train came to a halt and children began streaming out of every carriage. Both Lucius and Narcissa were quite tall and it was easy enough to pick out Draco’s white-blonde hair in the midst of a knot of other Slytherins. Narcissa felt the faintest stirring of unease as most of the students surrounding Draco seemed to ignore him and peeled off to find their parents as quickly as possible, rather than lingering to say goodbye, as so many other students were doing. In less than a minute, Draco was left with only the Crabbe and Goyle boys to accompany him as he made his way across the platform.

“Mother! Father!” Draco bowed to each of his parents respectfully, then turned to his friends. “You can go now. I’ll see you later.” Narcissa narrowed her eyes as the other two boys grunted acknowledgment and vanished into the crowd. Clearly, she was going to have to remind her son that one should not treat friends like common servants. “Shall we go?” Draco asked.

“Where is your trunk?” Narcissa asked.

“I had Marcus Flint shrink it for me.” Draco said, patting his pocket. Privately, Narcissa hoped the boy had not used the same tone with Flint as he had with Crabbe and Goyle. When neither of his parents moved, Draco looked perplexed. “Are we waiting for someone?”

“You received my letter about the adoption, didn’t you?” Narcissa felt rather anxious, but knew her husband wasn’t overly concerned about Draco’s reaction to the news. While he acknowledged their son was likely to be very unhappy, Lucius firmly believed that, as a Malfoy, Draco would comport himself with dignity.

“Yes.” Draco frowned. “Wait….you mean she’s here? She’s a student? I thought you were talking about a baby!” As Narcissa began to explain, she noticed that Lucius was ignoring them both. Instead, his eyes were fixed on a small knot of people, his expression redolent of disgust. Even as she continued speaking to Draco, Narcissa’s gaze followed her husband’s and she saw Hermione in the middle of a pack of Weasleys. 

Almost as if she could sense their eyes on her, Hermione turned and looked right at them. Her eyes were red and swollen but she had a determined expression on her face that Narcissa found slightly worrisome. It was not the expression worn by typical Pure-blood girls; they certainly were a determined lot, but they knew better than to be so blatant about it. Thankfully, before it became necessary for Lucius to wade in among the redheads to fetch her, Hermione gave a final hug to Harry Potter and began pushing her way through the crowd towards them.

“Granger?” Draco shrieked, regaining Narcissa’s full attention. “You were talking about Granger?” The volume of his exclamation caused several heads to turn towards them in surprise. 

“We are in public, Draco.” Narcissa hissed, as she saw her husband’s jaw tighten. She had no time to consider how best to handle this crisis because Hermione had broken free of the Weasleys and was making her way towards them. She was moving slowly, apparently hampered by the weight of the trunk she was dragging along by one handle and Narcissa was about to nudge her husband, hoping he would take her hint and help the girl, when two hooded figures stepped out to block her path. Alarmed, Narcissa glanced at Lucius, who gave her a grim nod. Together, they started moving forward.

“Hermione Granger?” One of the figures was definitely male and had a rather unpleasant voice.

“Yes.” The girl looked confused. “Can I help you?” Narcissa saw that Arthur and Molly Weasley had also noticed what was going on and were closing in on the scene, followed by their entire brood.

“By order of the Ministry of Magic, you are hereby expelled from the wizarding world. You are ordered to surrender your wand, after which time your magic will be bound and your memories of magic will be erased.” Narcissa gasped and Lucius growled and increased his pace. The fool from the Ministry hadn’t made any effort to be discreet and a crowd was now gathering around the girl and her would-be assailants. Arthur Weasley reached her before the Malfoys could.

“What is all this nonsense?” Though his actions were, quite frankly, idiotic Narcissa felt a small surge of grudging admiration as Arthur placed himself between Hermione and the hooded men. No one could ever accuse the man of cowardice. Lucius did not join him, but placed himself near enough to the girl that he could grab her if spells started flying. 

Narcissa was now close enough to see under the hoods and she recognized Amyas Crayle, an Obliviator from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and John Dawlish, a senior level Auror. She had to stifle a groan. Crayle was harmless enough, but Dawlish was just as fanatical about blood purity as Dolores Umbridge and just as disinclined to pursue his aims with any sort of tact, decorum, or respect for public opinion.

“Stay out of this, Weasley.” Dawlish growled. Narcissa had heard rumors that Arthur had reported Dawlish for theft when the two men had worked together on a raid, so recognized that there was no love lost between the two men. Clearly, the presence of all the redheads was worsening on the Auror’s temper. “This is nothing to do with you.”

“Amyas, what in Merlin’s name is going on?” Arthur asked, ignoring Dawlish. “Since when do Obliviators grab little girls off the Hogwarts Express?” Lucius opened his mouth to say something when, to Narcissa’s horror, Draco chose that moment to speak.

“Father, what a terrific joke. For a moment there, I thought Mother was serious about adopting that thing. I see that the Minister has finally taken your advice about how to deal with the Mudbloods!” 

“Draco!” Narcissa snapped. “Be silent!” The crowd was starting to murmur angrily and many were shooting dark looks in their direction. Narcissa’s visions of a public relations triumph, complete with a nice family portrait for The Daily Prophet came crashing down around her ears. Now, she’d be lucky if they managed to make it out of the train station unscathed.

Despite the obvious danger to herself, Hermione appeared to be keeping her head. She was obviously frightened and had moved closer to the throng of Weasleys, but she wasn’t engaging in unnecessary histrionics. The same could not be said for Molly Weasley.

“This is an outrage!” The woman bellowed. “You have no right to attack innocent children!” Dawlish growled at her, but Arthur put a steadying hand on his wife’s arm.

“Amyas?” Narcissa noticed that the Obliviator, usually cheerful to the point of being irritating, looked utterly miserable.

“It’s orders from the Minister’s office.” Crayle said, finally. “I’m sorry, Arthur, but….”

“Whose orders?” Lucius interrupted. Narcissa knew her husband considered it absolutely necessary to keep Fudge in office, since he was so susceptible to the Malfoys’ particular type of persuasion. Something like this could ruin the idiot’s career; no one would vote for a man who condoned assault upon children, no matter how much money Lucius poured into his campaign. “I cannot believe that Minister Fudge authorized this. He is well aware that I have extended the protection of House Malfoy to Miss Granger. He witnessed my signature of the adoption register, after all.”

“Wait, you were serious about that? You’re adopting the Mudblood?” Unwilling to allow her son to persist in his tantrum, Narcissa palmed her wand and shot a Silencing spell at him. The effects of the spell wouldn’t last long, but Narcissa hoped it would hold until they were all safely back in the Manor.

“Whose orders?” Lucius repeated. Crayle could only look at his shoes, while Dawlish looked around in shock.

“Is the boy right?” He asked, staring at Lucius as if he’d suddenly grown another head. “Are you really going to pollute your House with this…”

“Never mind!” Lucius snarled. Narcissa was almost positive she knew who had issued those orders and had no doubt her husband did as well. “She is coming with me!” Striding forward, he grabbed Hermione under one arm and attempted to steer her towards the Apparition point. Unfortunately, Arthur Weasley had hold of her other arm and his wife and spawn had crowded around, making movement impossible. “Out of my way, all of you!”

“She’s not going anywhere with you, Malfoy!” Arthur spat and grabbed the hand Hermione was using to hold her trunk. Hermione whimpered in pain as both men attempted to pull her at the same time.

“She’s not going anywhere at all!” Dawlish pulled out his wand and pointed it, first at Arthur and then at Lucius. “Flipendo!” Several people screamed as Arthur was suddenly hurled through the air and into his children. Fortunately, Lucius had been more prepared, so only staggered slightly. He did, however, drop Hermione’s arm. “Petrificus Totalus!” This spell hit the girl in the chest, causing her limbs to lock up. She would have fallen over had several of the Weasley boys not reached out to steady her. Lucius drew his own wand, as did a number of other people, including the entire Weasley family and Harry Potter. Dawlish either didn’t see this or didn’t care because he aimed for a spot between Hermione’s eyes and yelled “Ligabia Mag….”

“HALT!” As if hit by a spell, every single person on the platform froze, save one. Amelia Bones strode through the crowd, wand pointed at Dawlish, looking angrier than Narcissa had ever seen her. “Wands down! All of you!” Slowly, Lucius lowered his arm, though he kept his wand in his hand. Dawlish was one of the last to comply. Bones moved to the center of the ring that had been created by the crowd, so that she was standing between Dawlish and his intended victim. Keeping her wand trained on the Ministry officials, she dipped her free hand into a pocket of her robes and pulled out a small object that Narcissa recognized as her badge of office. Slapping the badge on her chest, she seemed to look everywhere at once, without ever taking her eyes off Dawlish and Crayle.

“Does someone want to tell me what is going on here?”

“It’s orders, ma’am.” Dawlish said, looking defiant. “Her parents pulled her out of Hogwarts, so we’re to bind the girl’s magic and wipe her memory before sending her out into the Muggle world.”

“Really?” Bones arched an eyebrow. “Who, pray tell, issued these orders?” Dawlish clammed up, while Crayle started to cry.

“Please, Madam Bones. My wife is a Muggleborn. She….she threatened to have her arrested if I didn’t cooperate or if I told anyone.”

“Who was it, Crayle? I promise that no harm will come to Louise, but I need to know who did this.” Crayle was sobbing now and appeared to be incapable of speech.

“Madam Bones.” Narcissa saw a chance to repair some of the damage that Draco’s remarks had done. Walking to Lucius’ side, she slipped her arm through his. Someone had released Hermione from the Body-bind and she was watching the scene with round eyes. “While I cannot be certain of this, I would hazard a guess that these gentlemen were sent by Dolores Umbridge. She was the one who told me of Miss Granger’s plight and seemed quite…eager to see the child removed from the Wizarding world. Frankly, I found her zeal to bind a child’s magic to be rather disturbing. That is why my husband and I decided to take Miss Granger into our home and family—so that we may offer her guidance and protection.” The crowd rippled with gasps and murmurs and, though many people still looked suspicious, Narcissa was pleased to see that most of the crowd’s anger was now directed towards Dawlish.

“Is Madam Malfoy correct, Amyas?” Bones asked, almost gently. “Did you receive your orders from Dolores Umbridge?”

“Yes!” He sputtered, wiping his nose with a handkerchief that had clearly been used extensively.

“I see. As Dolores Umbridge is not a senior officer of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she is not authorized to issue orders to DMLE personnel except in an emergency. A student being pulled out of Hogwarts is not an emergency. Auror Dawlish and Obliviator Crayle, you are both hereby suspended from active duty pending further investigation into allegations of attempted unsanctioned Obliviation of a minor witch and attempted deliberate violation of the Statute of Secrecy. Furthermore….”

“What?” Dawlish’s mouth was hanging open. “We were trying to protect the Statute of Secrecy, not violate it!”

“Don’t you think the girl’s parents would have noticed if she’d walked into the train station with no memories of the last two years of her life?” Lucius snorted with disgust at the man’s stupidity. Crayle, who had finally managed to pull himself together, suddenly went very pale.

“Oh, sweet Merlin….” He moaned.

“Shut it, Crayle!” Dawlish suddenly found himself disarmed and bound in ropes. Nobody had heard Amelia speak, nor had her wand moved more than an inch.

“What is it, Amyas?” Bones asked. 

“The parents….we…they…” Crayle paused to draw in a deep, shuddering breath. “We’ve already been to see them.” For a moment, you could have heard a knut drop as the man’s words sank in.

“Are you telling me that you went and Obliviated a pair of Muggles without following proper procedure?” Amelia Bones was rumored to be one of the most dangerous women in the country and, in that moment, Narcissa completely understood how she’d earned that reputation. “Were you seriously going to bind this child’s magic, strip her memories and send her home to people who don’t remember her?”

There was a strangled wail and all eyes turned to see Hermione Granger weeping hysterically in Molly Weasley’s arms. Narcissa wanted to offer comfort, but some instinct told her that any attempt to do so at this point would be counterproductive, to say the least. Amelia Bones spared a sympathetic glance for the girl, but then turned her attention back to Dawlish and Crayle. The Obliviator looked absolutely devastated.

“I’m so sorry, Ma’am. Miss.” He cast a pleading glance towards Hermione, but her face was buried in Molly Weasley’s shoulder. “But my wife….” He broke down again and whatever else he said was lost in his sobs.

“Madam Bones,” Lucius sounded perfectly calm, though Narcissa could tell that he was furious. “I feel I must point out that these men have also violated the 1921 amendments to the Ministry’s Charter.” Amelia Bones swore under her breath, before recalling that she was surrounded by children. Touching her badge with her wand, she spoke in a loud, clear voice. 

“Moddy! Shacklebolt! Fawley! Tonks! To me!” Almost immediately, four more Aurors appeared on the platform. Narcissa was not the only one surprised by their appearance. They landed next to their boss, rather than at the Apparition point. That was certainly something which the wards on the platform were supposed to prevent. They also appeared silently, which was also next to impossible. Each of the newcomers had a wand in hand and looked ready for a fight. Narcissa bit back an oath of her own as she recognized the lone female in the group as her sister’s child. She was the first to spot the trussed up Dawlish.

“Blimey!” She whistled. “What happened here?”

“There will be a full briefing later, Auror Tonks.” Bones snapped. “For now, we have work to do. Moody, you are to return to the Ministry. Find Runcorn and tell him I need his squad here, on the double. When you’ve done that, you are to take Senior Undersecretary Umbridge into custody on charges of endangering the welfare of a minor, and conspiring to violate both the Statute of Secrecy and the Ministry Charter. If Fudge raises a stink, throw him into an adjoining cell. Same charges.” 

“With pleasure.” Moody grinned. Turning, he stalked through the crowd towards the Apparition point, his electric blue eye rolling like mad. 

“Shacklebolt and Tonks. I’m going to have to stay here to clean up this mess, so I need you two to escort Susan home….”

“That’s all right, Amelia.” Delilah Abbot pushed her way to the front of the crowd. Behind her were her husband and daughter, along with another girl whom Narcissa vaguely recognized as belonging to the Bones clan. “Susan can come home with us until you’re finished.”

“Thank you, Dee.” Amelia looked relieved, then returned her attention to the matter at hand. “Very well. Shacklebolt and Tonks, you’re on crowd control. Once the platform is empty and secured, I’ll need you to accompany the Obliviators.”

“Yes, boss!” The two Aurors gave sharp nods and began walking in opposite directions. Within moments, they had vanished into the crowd, though Narcissa suspected that they would instantly become highly visible again, should the need arise. 

“Fawley, keep an eye on these two until we’re ready to take them back to HQ.” Once she was sure that her subordinate was in place, Amelia finally lowered her wand. Raising her voice, he addressed the crowd. “All right, you lot. Show’s over. It’s time to take your children home.” Slowly, reluctantly, the crowd began to disperse. Soon the air was full of the familiar crack of Apparition and the bellows of the portal guard, alternately cautioning people to wait their turn and to hurry up. Thanks, in no small part to Aurors Shacklebolt and Tonks, their area of platform was soon empty save for the small group surrounding the Head of the DMLE. The Weasleys were still there, though Arthur had persuaded Harry Potter to join the queue waiting to go through the barrier and into the Muggle world. Molly still had her arms around Hermione, who was crying quietly.

“Right then.” Madam Bones sighed and some of her rigid professionalism seemed to leave her. “Arthur, will you please tell me the full story, from the beginning?”

“I don’t know that I can.” Arthur admitted. “I know that Hermione was sitting on the train with my kids and Harry Potter and they all got off together. We said our goodbyes and I thought she was heading for the barrier to meet her parents on the other side. Then, they showed up…” he gestured towards Dawlish and Crayle “and….well, you know what happened next.”

“I believe that I may be able to shed some light on this situation.” Lucius cut in, smoothly. Quickly, he explained Hermione’s situation to Madam Bones and the elder Weasleys. Narcissa was gratified and impressed at the way in which he managed to hide his true feelings about Hermione. To anyone who didn’t know better, he was a concerned citizen, horrified at the awful fate that had been set to befall an innocent, and eager to offer what aid and comfort he could. 

While he spoke, Narcissa took the opportunity to closely observe the Weasley family. Both Severus and Minerva McGonagall had told her that Hermione was close friends with the youngest boy, and she knew Molly had a habit of attempting to absorb her children’s friends into the family. It was evident that the children had already been told of the adoption, for they exhibited no signs of surprise. Indeed, they all looked rather angry and the twins seemed to have taken it upon themselves to keep control of their youngest brother. He looked positively homicidal, though he seemed to be incapable of opening his mouth for some reason. 

When Lucius was done speaking and had produced the adoption paperwork for inspection, Amelia signed wearily and rubbed her temples. After a moment, she spoke gently to Hermione. “Miss Granger? I am so terribly sorry that this has happened to you. You have my personal assurances that the people who tried to do this to you will be forced to answer for their crimes and that you will never be put in such danger again.”

“Wh…what about my parents?” Narcissa suppressed a wince as the girl wiped at her eyes with her sleeve.

“I’m very sorry, but the law requires us to remove all their memories of magic.” Amelia gave the Malfoys a sharp glance as if to say Didn’t you explain this to her?

“I know, but I thought….I thought I’d get to say goodbye….” Narcissa resisted the urge to flinch as Hermione looked at her for the first time. “You told me I could say goodbye!” There was no hint of accusation in her voice, merely the bewilderment of a child who has suddenly lost everything. Unfortunately, Molly and Arthur Weasley were both bristling with rage. 

“Madam Bones, the law states that a Muggleborn child who is being removed from the custody of their parents must be given the opportunity to speak to their parents and to collect their possessions before any Obliviation occurs.” Lucius said, coolly. “Moreover, I had the Minister’s personal assurances that Miss Granger’s parents would not have their memories modified before we had a chance to speak with them.” With a scowl, Amelia turned back to the two prisoners.

“Crayle, were you under orders to obliviate Miss Granger’s parents first?” Crayle shook his head.

“N…no, ma’am.” He whimpered. “Dawlish…he said it would be faster to go to the house first. I tried to tell him, but he….my wife….”

“I understand your fear for your wife’s safety, Amyas,” Amelia said, slowly “but that does not excuse such blatant disregard for the law, especially when that disregard endangers the life of another person, let alone that of a child. In addition to the charge of attempted unsanctioned Obliviation of a minor, I will have to add two charges of unsanctioned Oblviation of Muggles and violation of the Ministry Charter.”

“It’ll never stick.” Dawlish sneered.

“I wouldn’t be so sure of that if I was you.” Bones suddenly smiled at Dawlish, but there was no warmth or joy in the expression. Rather, it was the smile of the predator who has successfully managed to trap their prey. “I’m going to do my damndest to see you rot in Azkban for this, Dawlish. I doubt that, even with your uncle’s money, you can buy your way out of this mess, but in case you do… I’m adding one count of aggravated assault on a minor to your list of charges. I’ve got plenty of witnesses who saw you cast a Body Bind on a child and attempt worse. I’ll admit that there’s a slight chance you might escape prison, but I’ll have your badge for this!” The Auror’s mouth opened and closed, but no sound came out. Narcissa could only assume that Amelia had cast a non-verbal Silencio on him at some point. 

Nobody seemed to know what to say for a moment. Finally, Lucius cleared his throat.

“Madam Bones. If I may ask, how do you intend to keep the Muggles from finding out about this? I do not know if you are aware, but after that….incident last year, the Prime Minister….”

“I know, I know.” Amelia sighed and ran a hand through her hair. Her glance flicked back and forth between Lucius and Arthur Weasley. “I realize that you two get along about as well as dragons and nundus, but can we all agree that this situation requires the implementation of Operation Lookout?” 

“Absolutely.” Lucius agreed, promptly. After a long, tense moment, Arthur Weasley nodded. He looked terribly sad. Almost as if his agreement had been some sort of signal, there were several cracks of Apparition and four more Ministry officials appeared. Two were dressed in Auror’s robes, one wore the badge of the Obliviation office, and one was dressed in the uniform favored by the Department of Mysteries. The newcomers gathered around Amelia, who cast a privacy charm and began to speak to them.

“Lucius, what is Operation Lookout?” Narcissa asked.

“It’s the plan the DMLE came up with to keep the Muggles from finding out about violations of the Ministry Charter.” Lucius kept his voice pitched low, though Narcissa noticed that nobody was paying any attention to them. The Weasleys were clustered around Arthur and she had no doubt that he was telling them the same thing Lucius was telling her. “The girl’s parents will be smuggled out of the country and sent somewhere where it is very unlikely that anyone who knows them or their daughter will ever think to look for them. They’ll be given new identities and the Obliviator will plant false memories that correspond to those identities. Any property or possessions they own will be sold and the Ministry will transfer the funds into a Muggle bank account under their new names.”

“Why bother? They’re just a couple of worthless Muggles.” In the hushed, tense atmosphere, Draco’s voice sounded as though he had used a sonorous charm on himself. There were still a few people clustered around the archway leading to the outside world and Narcissa cringed as more than one head turned to stare at them.

“Draco, be silent.” She glared at her son, but he ignored her. 

“Father, you’re not really going to allow that filth into our…ow!” Draco attempted to back away from the hand that had seized his shoulder and, from all appearances, was squeezing him quite hard.

“This is the fourth time you have been told to keep your mouth shut!” Lucius hissed. “You are not to say anything else until we are back in the Manor. Is that understood?” When Draco didn’t answer, Lucius shook him. “Is that understood?” Finally, Draco nodded. Lucius released him and Draco rubbed his shoulders, wincing. 

“Why did Amelia need both you and Arthur to agree to this plan?” Narcissa asked.

“Implementing the plan requires a great deal of money and manpower.” He explained. “In order to ensure that the Muggle government doesn’t find out what we’ve done, the Muggles will have to be given brand new lives; lives they can maintain without attracting attention. That means finding them a place to live, giving them enough money so that they can support themselves, modifying their memories and those of their families, their friends, and neighbors. It is a serious investment of the Ministry’s resources, so Madam Bones required the agreement of a senior member of the Wizengamot and a senior Ministry official before she could begin. To be quite frank, I’m surprised Arthur Weasley agreed so readily. I thought that the Muggle-loving fool….”

“Lucius.” Narcissa gave him a warning glance and, after a moment, he nodded, looking abashed. 

“My apologies.” He murmured. “I meant to say that I was certain that Weasley would object on principle.”

“The man is not a fool.” Narcissa murmured. Lucius rolled his eyes, but said nothing. “He is just as aware of the consequences of the Charter being revoked as you are. Now, tell me. Who are those people speaking with Madam Bones?” 

“That squad has been specially trained to oversee the implementation of Operation Lookout, though there will be many more people involved before it is all over.”

“Will Hermione be able to speak to her parents or collect any of her things?” Lucius shook his head.

“The Obliviators will have their work cut out for them, since they will have to sort out what Crayle has already done and work around that. They cannot restore the memories that have already been taken and our presence there would only distract both the Obliviator and his subjects and could result in the Muggles losing their minds altogether.” With a sigh, Narcissa acknowledged his point. Just then, Amelia Bones cancelled the privacy charm. The four members of the Lookout Squad hurried towards the Apparition point while the Director of the DMLE joined the others. Narcissa noticed that they were now alone on the platform.

“Right then. Arthur….Molly…thank you very much for your help today.” The dismissal was so obvious that even Molly Weasley couldn’t miss it. She tried to protest, as did the children, but Arthur eventually managed to shepherd his brood towards the barrier, leaving Hermione standing alone, her trunk at her side. “Lucius, I would appreciate it if you could come with me to the Ministry. I have no doubt that Fudge is going to do everything he can to make a nuisance of himself and you seem to be one of the few people he listens to these days.”

“Of course.” Lucius gave a slight bow. “I do, however, need to help Narcissa get the children home. I’ll meet you at the Ministry in a few minutes.”

**

June 18, 1993 (cont.)  
The Ministry of Magic

True to his word, Lucius Malfoy arrived at the Ministry’s Apparition point a few minutes later. He wasn’t at all ashamed to admit (to himself, anyway) that he was more than happy to have an excuse to flee the Manor and leave Narcissa to deal with the children. As far as he was concerned, the more time he could spend out of the Manor over the next two months, the better.

Since Lucius was a senior member of the Wizengamot and one of Cornelius Fudge’s staunchest supporters, no one dared to waste his time with such petty concerns as checking his wand. He arrived at the Minister’s office to find Fudge in the middle of a heated argument with Amelia Bones.

“Dolores Umbridge and John Dawlish are well respected members of the Ministry and you can’t just go around arresting them for no good reason!” Lucius closed his eyes and sternly suppressed his first instinct, which was to laugh in the Minister’s face. 

“Dawlish assaulted thirteen-year old girl in the middle of Platform Nine and Three-bloody-quarters!” Amelia Bones was clearly doing her best to keep from shouting. “As for Madam Umbridge, I have a statement from Amyas Crayle…”

“Oh, Crayle.” Fudge scoffed. “He’s not exactly the….best source of information, is he? I mean, the man’s a half-blood who spends his weekends doing Merlin-knows-what in the Muggle world. I hear he even tends his garden without using magic! Can you imagine that?” Lucius decided to intervene, before Amelia’s head exploded with rage.

“Minister, at this point, Mr. Crayle’s choice of hobbies is irrelevant. The fact of the matter is that Dawlish and Crayle accosted the girl in front of literally hundreds of witnesses and, had Madam Bones not intervened, Dawlish was prepared to bind the girl’s magic right there—again, in front of hundreds of witnesses. He stated, loud enough for everyone to hear, that he was acting under the authority of the Minister’s office.” Cornelius Fudge might have been the most corrupt to ever sit as Minister of Magic, and an idiot to boot, but even he recognized the imminent danger to his political career. Lucius saw his eyes widen as the words finally sank in. It was time to deal the final blow to the Minister’s protests. “What is more, my wife arranged for a reporter and photographer from the Daily Prophet to be on the platform this afternoon. I have no doubt that this whole affair will be reported, in great detail, on the front page of tomorrow’s edition.” Amelia shot Lucius a glance that was both grateful and calculating. Fudge simply looked as though he might faint.

“A….reporter?” he gasped.

“Yes.” Lucius nodded. “You are aware that the girl in question is the one I told you about? The one whose parents decided they couldn’t trust Dumbledore to keep their child safe?”

“The Mud….er….Muggleborn your wife insisted on adopting? That’s the girl Crayle assaulted?” Amelia Bones’ lips thinned, in irritation.

“Yes, that is the girl Dawlish assaulted.” She said. “I’ve seen the adoption paperwork, Cornelius. Everything was properly filed before the deadline. For Merlin’s sake, you signed the certificate as a witness! Now, I’m willing to concede that it is possible that Madam Umbridge is innocent of the crimes of which she has been accused….” Lucius sighed to himself as he watched Cornelius relax, slightly. The man really was a fool. “…but I will have to do a thorough investigation before I can be certain.” Fudge opened his mouth to say something but Lucius, suddenly tired of the argument, decided to intervene again.

“Minister, I do not believe that there is anything to argue about.” He said. “There are far too many witnesses to cover up what happened and neither Dawlish nor Maadam Umbridge have been at all shy about expressing their opinions regarding those members of our society who were not raised in magical homes. If you do not allow Madam Bones to do her job….if you insist on interfering in her investigation or protecting any of the accused parties, people are likely to assume that you agree with them. That would be most…unfortunate.” There was no need to mention the upcoming elections. Thick as he was, even Cornelius could draw the obvious conclusion. “If you allow Madam Bones to make a full investigation, however, the people will see you as a Minister who is dedicated to protecting the interests of the entire community, rather than those of a privileged few.”

“All right.” Fudge slumped in his chair and waved a dismissive hand at Amelia. Lucius was strongly reminded of a marionette whose strings had been cut. “Go ahead and make your investigations, but be quick about it!”

“Yes, sir.” Turning to leave, Madam Bones cast one last glance at Lucius. “If you don’t mind, I’d appreciate it if you would stop by my office before you leave. There’s a Hogwarts matter we need to discuss.” Lucius gave her a brief nod and she departed. In the end, it took him nearly two hours to convince Fudge that he had made the right decision and, even as he left the Minister’s office, he recognized that the man would almost surely change his mind again within the hour. Lucius sighed. The Minister was rapidly turning into a mill-stone around his neck, but if Fudge was ousted from his position, there was no guarantee that the Malfoys would hold the same kind of influence with his replacement. Perhaps Narcissa would have some idea of how best to proceed.

It was after eight o’clock when Lucius finally presented himself at the office of the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, but he wasn’t surprised to see that she was still there, hard at work.

“I should warn you,” he said, without preamble “that Fudge is likely to change his mind and call a halt to this investigation some time between now and tomorrow morning.”

“I know.” Amelia grimaced. “Thanks to you, however, I’ve had two hours I didn’t have before.” Lucius was tempted to ask what progress she could expect to make in two hours, but restrained himself. He had a good working relationship with Amelia and would not jeopardize it by pestering her unnecessarily. 

“You wanted to speak to me about Hogwarts?” Like Lucius, Amelia Bones was on the Board of Governors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. While the Board had no officially recognized leader, most of the governors deferred to Madam Bones. While they often disagreed on school matters, Lucius and Amelia were united in their desire to keep Albus Dumbledore in line. Lucius was curious to hear what Madam Bones had to say now, as he was certain Dumbledore had told her as little about the basilisk affair as possible.

“I received this by owl this morning.” Amelia said, handing over a piece of parchment. Arching an eyebrow, Lucius took it and began to read.

My Dear Amelia,

I regret to inform you that Lucius Malfoy came to see me last evening and informed me that he intends to resign from the Hogwarts Board of Governors at the regularly scheduled meeting in July. While he did not say so, I had the distinct impression that he did not intend to inform the other Governors of his decision until the meeting, no doubt so that he can push through the election of a replacement whom he finds agreeable. I’m certain we will all miss Lucius’ idiosyncratic observations and opinions, but like the rest of the Board, I am sure you are not eager to elect a new Governor who shares them. 

As Headmaster, I am aware that I am not permitted to have a say in the election of new Governors, but I do hope you will forgive an old man for sharing his thoughts on the matter. I should like to offer my warmest recommendation to Molly Weasley. She is an excellent woman who has, as I’m sure you know, entrusted all seven of her children to Hogwarts and is intimately acquainted with the needs of the students. As I cannot approach Molly with this proposal, I am reaching out to you in the hopes that you will have an opportunity to speak with her in the near future.

I look forward to seeing you in July when we can begin planning for another exciting year at Hogwarts!

Sincerely,  
Albus Dumbledore  
Headmaster of Hogwarts

“Lucius, if your eyebrows go any higher, they’re going to be on the back of your head.” Amelia laughed.

“The man has lost his mind!” Lucius sputtered. “Elect Molly Weasley to the Hogwarts Board of Governors? That would be like…like….” For once, he was genuinely lost for words.

“Is he right? Are you resigning?” Amelia asked, her voice quiet and steady. Lucius took a deep breath to center himself, grateful that he and Narcissa had already discussed this. 

“The truth is, Amelia, that Dumbledore does not intend to give me a choice in the matter.” He said, then carefully related the story of the diary; how it had come into his possession, what he knew of its history and how it worked, and how and why he had come to pass it on to Ginny Weasley. Once he had agreed to Narcissa’s terms regarding the continuance of their marriage, Lucius had found her to be an invaluable source of wisdom cunning, and strength. It was she, in fact, who had pointed out that Lucius had not committed any crime and that he was, if one looked at things from a certain angle, just as much of a victim as Ginny Weasley. After all, the case could be made that his admittedly foolish decision to give a Dark artifact to an eleven year old girl had been the result of the diary’s corrupting influence. Albus Dumbledore, on the other hand, could not make such a claim regarding his actions—or lack thereof.

“As you know, when I discovered that Dumbledore had returned to the castle, I went up there to confront him. I was informed that the matter had been resolved and it was strongly implied that said resolution had been carried out by Harry Potter, of all people. Then, the Headmaster made spurious accusations against me, in Mr. Potter’s presence, stating that I used threats and blackmail in order to convince the other Governors to sigh the Order of Suspension….”

“He did what?” While he spoke, Amelia had sat, unmoving and impassive, but now she leaned forward, with narrowed eyes. “On what was he basing those accusations, do you know?”

“I’ve no idea.” Lucius shook his head. “You are well aware that I did nothing of the kind. I will be happy to provide you with my memory of the conversation, if you wish.”

“I’ll take you up on that. I also want to see all memories you have of your interaction with that diary and any conversations you may have had with others about it.”

“Of course.” Lucius nodded.

“What happened to the diary, do you know?”

“I have it. If you can believe it, Dumbledore gave it to Potter so that he could trick me into freeing my father’s crazy house elf.” He then explained what little they knew of Dobby the House Elf and how he’d come to be freed. Amelia’s brows knit together.

“That sounds rather….suspicious.” she said, finally. “I’d like to see your memories of your interactions with this elf, if that is all right?” Lucius nodded. Narcissa had said something similar, but neither of them had been able to come up with a more reasonable explanation for Dobby’s sudden presence in their lives than that he’d been Abraxas’ personal elf, hidden away in the Malfoy Patriarch’s private quarters.

“To answer your question, yes, I will be stepping down from the Hogwarts Board of Governors, but not because of any desire or action on Dumbledore’s part. As you know, I held my position as a Governor as the proxy for the House of Black. Narcissa has decided to take a more public role in the management of her father’s House and she will be taking her rightful place on the Board.” He frowned at the letter. “Frankly, I find it quite disturbing that the Headmaster thinks that the seat can be put up for election.”

“Indeed. Albus seems quite …eager to put aside the rules set forth by the Hogwarts Charter.” Amelia looked relieved. “I am glad to hear that your wife is fully cognizant of her rights with regards to the Board. Please tell Narcissa that I look forward to working with her.” 

“I shall.” Lucius nodded, doing his best to hide his own relief. Confessing all to Amelia Bones had been risky—though he had not committed any crimes, she still had the potential to make his life very difficult, were she inclined to do so. Fortunately, her attention was focused on Dumbledore and not on him. Now, to keep it there. “Albus’ reaction to this should be…enlightening.” 

“Very.” Amelia’s tone was bland, as if she was merely making polite conversation, but Lucius knew better. Few people realized that Amelia Bones was a Slytherin. Even when she had been Head Girl at Hogwarts, people had always seemed to forget that fact, despite the green and silver trim on her robes. To an impressionable firstie like Lucius Malfoy, this had seemed like the ultimate act of cunning and, to this day, she was one of the most intelligent and shrewdest people he knew. They weren’t allies, strictly speaking, but neither did Lucius see Amelia as his enemy. In fact, now that he was no longer shackled by his father’s extreme political views, he rather hoped that, one day, the Houses of Bones and Malfoy might join forces.

“I wonder if he’s forgotten that the Black seat is hereditary or if he’d chosen to deliberately ignore that fact.” There was a flash in Amelia’s eye that let him know that her thoughts ran on the same tracks as his. 

“Albus Dumbledore forgets nothing.” Amelia snorted. “He wants to remove the Blacks from the Board of Governors and he either thinks that I do not know that the seat is hereditary or he assumes that I am willing to ignore the school’s Charter. He’s also been trying to get Molly Weasley on the Board for years. While I have nothing against the woman, personally….”

“She would believe that the moon was made of tinsel if Albus Dumbledore told her that was so.” Lucius finished.

“Just so.” Amelia nodded. “ Tea?” 

“Please.” There was a pause while Amelia summoned a House Elf and had a pot of tea, two cups, and some biscuits brought to them. 

“Your new ward….Hermione, is it? How does she fit into all this?” Lucius wasn’t surprised that Amelia had put the pieces together so easily and did not bother to feign ignorance.

“She was Petrified at the beginning of April, along with another student.” Amelia’s eyes lit up in surprise and….was that pleasure?

“Ah, yes. I knew that the name seemed familiar. Edric Clearwater’s daughter, Penelope, was the other student in question.” Lucius felt his own eyes widen slightly. Along with the Blacks, the Bones, and the Longbottoms, the Clearwaters were one of the oldest families in Wizarding Britai and Edric was one of the most prominent members of the Wizengamot’s moderate faction.

“Narcissa tells me that it happened just as the girl….Hermione…identified the creature.” He said, cautiously.

“Convenient timing, that.” Amelia smirked.

“Indeed. She is also one of Harry Potter’s closest allies. I do not yet know what he has told her about the…er….resolution to this affair.” Amelia sat back and stared at the wall over Lucius’ left shoulder, thoughtfully.

“Are you aware that representatives from all seven of the First Families are currently in attendance at Hogwarts?” she asked, looking as though she was inquiring into his awareness of the contents of the latest edition of The Daily Prophet.

“No I was not.” Lucius couldn’t have hidden his surprise if he tried, but he recovered quickly and considered the implications of her words. “Do you think Dumbledore knows?”

“I doubt it. I know he knows about Susan and I believe he is aware of two others currently under his so-called ‘care’, but I’m not sure about the rest. He does know about the history of the First Families and about the rights and privileges our society is expected to extend to their members. I am of the opinion that this knowledge has influenced some of his decisions in recent years.”

“In other words, he knows about those rights and privileges and is doing his best to either circumvent them or eradicate them completely.” Lucius said. “You say he knows about Susan?” The Bones family was in a particularly precarious position, since so many of them had died during the last war. Now, only Amelia and her niece remained to carry on the family’s legacy.

“He does. However, I believe that, with the death of my brother Edgar, he thinks the House of Bones is, for all intents and purposes, dead. For all his vaunted wisdom, Albus Dumbledore is shockingly uneducated about some very important things.” Lucius could only roll his eyes, in exasperation. .

“It is more likely that he has received the correct information and has chosen to ignore it because it does not fit in well with his preferred view of the world.” He murmured. The legacy of First Families could pass to daughters just as easily as to sons, of course. Susan’s husband would need to take her name, but so long as she had a child, the Bones legacy would continue. Amelia was still young enough to have children of her own, but Lucius did not expect anything to come of that. He recalled hearing something about one of the LeStrange brothers hitting her in the abdomen with a particularly nasty curse the night they went after the Longbottoms.

“Indeed.” Amelia nodded. “And what of the Black legacy? Who will carry on the family name?” They had, Lucius realized, come to the question she really wanted answered and it was one he and Narcissa had not prepared for. Quickly weighing his options, he decided that, again, honesty was the best policy.

“We are not certain.” He admitted. “To the best of our knowledge—mine and Narcissa’s, that is—the legacy is currently held by Sirius. He is the last member of the family in the direct line of descent. When he dies, we are not sure whether it will pass to Andromeda or to Narcissa.”

“There is some doubt? Andromeda is older...” Lucius sighed.

“Orion Black was Head of the family until his death in 1983.” He explained. “As you may recall, his wife, Walburga, exerted a strong influence over him, especially in his later years.”

“The man had absolutely no spine.” Amelia’s expression was a strange combination of amusement and disgust that Lucius found oddly fascinating.

“That is what my father believed, yes.” He nodded. “However, after his death, Narcissa and I began to suspect otherwise. As I’m sure you’re aware, Walburga initiated proceedings in the Wizengamot to disown Sirius in 1976.”

“I am.” Amelia looked thoughtful. “You’re suggesting that this was strictly a legal maneuver?”

“I am.” Lucius nodded. “Otherwise, the legacy would have passed to Andromeda or Narcissa on Orion’s death and that didn’t happen.”

“Andromeda was also disowned. Do you think that was also strictly….legal in nature?” Amelia asked.

“We’re not certain.” Lucius admitted. “Narcissa believes that Orion fully cast her out of the family and that the experience disturbed him so deeply that he refused to do the same to his own son. I cannot claim to have known Orion Black well enough to judge his actions in this matter. If the Rite of Severance was performed, the legacy may pass to Narcissa and Draco will have to make a decision when he comes of age.”

“May?” Amelia arched a curious eyebrow. Lucius suddenly felt rather uncomfortable. 

“We are not sure whether, once the direct line of descent is ended, the legacy will pass to the descendants of Orion’s brother or whether it will revert to the line of one of Arcturus Black’s siblings. If it is the latter case, there are a few others eligible candidates. Harry Potter, for example, may have a a claim that is equal to Draco’s.”

“That explains a great deal.” Amelia muttered. Looking at Lucius, she seemed to recall herself. “It won’t be Potter. His family legacy won’t tolerate another.” Lucius gasped.

“The Potters are a First family?”

“They are. However, I should like to return to the matter of your ward for a moment. She has, albeit completely unwittingly, from what I understand, placed herself in a rather unique position with regards to the First Families.”

“I confess that I do not see how that is possible. She is a Muggleborn…”

“You said it yourself—she’s one of the Potter boy’s closest friends and he’s the de facto Head of his family, though he’s not been made aware of that fact.” Amelia replied. “Susan tells me that she’s also friends with the Longbottom boy. Susan has shared several classes with all of them over the past two years and I expect that those two girls will have ample opportunity to get to know one another once they begin their electives next term.”

Like a firework, understanding burst into Lucius’ mind. Slowly, he began to smile.

“Clearwater’s daughter was Petrified at the same time as Miss….er…Hermione.” He said, slowly.

“Yes, she was.” The smirk on Amelia’s face told Lucius that he was correct in believing that their thoughts ran along the same path. “Edric told me that, were it not for your ward and her mirror, his daughter would be dead.”

“That just leaves Greengrass and Lovegood.” Lucius murmured. “Balfur’s oldest is in her year. She’s in Slytherin, with Draco. I don’t know about the Lovegoods….”

“Xeno’s child just finished her first year.” Amelia supplied. “Ravenclaw, I believe. Susan says that there is no information about the First Families or the Old Ways in the school library and someone has gone to a great deal of trouble to ensure that the relevant Charters, treaties, and records have been well hidden here at the Ministry.” She paused for a moment to let this sink in. “Of course, there’s nothing to stop eager young minds from learning all they can in other libraries and passing that information on to their peers, is there? Dumbledore can’t censor what they read at home, can he? And he certainly can’t prevent them from talking about what they read. Can you imagine what would happen if, say, Harry Potter was to learn about his true heritage? I have it on good authority that Dumbledore has kept him so isolated from the magical world that he doesn’t even know about his parents’ Gringotts vaults. The Longbottom boy’s situation is almost worse. His grandmother alternates between coddling him and despising him because he isn’t a carbon copy of his father. She’s a Fenwick, you know. Doesn’t know a thing about the Old Ways. Ardent Dumbledore supporter, too.”

“Edric Clearwater’s father died when he was still at Hogwarts, so I doubt he’s been fully educated about his legacy either.” Lucius sipped his tea, thoughtfully. “And Xenophilius Lovegood is…well….”

“Loopy as a loon.” Amelia said, baldly. “Has been ever since his wife died. I’d be quite surprised to hear that he’s managed to put breakfast on the table, let alone teach his daughter about her legacy.”

“You make some very interesting points.” Lucius said. “Points, I will admit, that I had not considered.” Their conversation ended a few minutes later, with both mouthing meaningless pleasantries and somewhat less meaningless statements of intent to continue their chat at a later date. Lucius provided Amelia with the memories she’d requested and they agreed that he would turn over the diary in the morning. On impulse, Lucius asked that Aurors be sent to search his house for other Dark artifacts his father might have hidden away somewhere. After all, now was the perfect opportunity to make that fresh start that he and Narcissa so desperately craved.

“One other thing.” Amelia said as Lucius prepared to take his leave. “You may wish to have a conversation with the Weasleys sooner rather than later. You’ve done an excellent job of de-bearding the old goat, but it’s best not to leave any loose ends.” Lucius couldn’t help his grimace of dismay. He and Narcissa hadn’t considered that point.

“You think it necessary?” He asked.

“I do.” Amelia nodded. “Arthur may not have much official clout within the Ministry, but just about everyone in this building likes him. What’s more, they listen to him, whether they want to admit it or not. Molly has a similar influence among the wives and mothers of Ministry personnel. You know as well as I do that their support is one of the primary reasons the Board has had such difficulty in getting Dumbledore to update the curriculum.”

“Thank you.” Lucius gave Amelia a grave nod. “I will admit that I hadn’t given them much thought, but I will certainly discuss your advice with Narcissa.” Upon leaving the DMLE, he used the Floo to return to the Manor where he found Narcissa waiting for him. He was shocked to see how drawn and weary she appeared.

“What has happened?” Narcissa sighed as she stood and helped Lucius remove his cloak.

“Nothing new.” She assured him. “It has just been a very long evening. Hermione is, as I’m sure you noticed, quite upset and Draco….well...his attitude is not helping matters.”

“Where are they now?”

“Their rooms. I gave them both Sleeping Draughts, so we won’t hear from either of them until morning.” Lucius was somewhat surprised to see the troubled look in her eyes.

“What is it?” He asked, taking her hands in his and attempting to rub some warmth in them.

“I’ve failed our son, Lucius.” She said, tears standing in her eyes.

“Draco loves you….” Lucius began, but she shook her head.

“He may love me, but he has absolutely no respect for me. You saw him at the train…I had to Silence him! He only condescended to obey you and tonight…..” She stopped and drew in a deep and shuddering breath. “When I ordered him to retire to his rooms, he made all sorts of threats about having me punished when he becomes Head of House Malfoy.” Lucius winced.

“Come.” He said, finally. “I think this conversation calls for some firewhiskey, don’t you?” He offered his arm to his wife and felt the familiar tingle as she smiled at him and allowed him to lead her to his office. Once he had her comfortably settled, he poured them each a tumbler-full of liquor and took his own seat.

“We have both failed our son.” He said, finally. “I admit that I did not properly comprehend the seriousness of the situation until this afternoon, but…..” he waved his hand in a helpless gesture.

“Abraxas dictated every aspect of Draco’s upbringing and education, but we were remiss in not paying attention to exactly what he was teaching the boy. Had I known…..” Narcissa’s voice trailed off.

“Had we known, we would not have been able to contradict him or remove Draco from his charge.” Lucius reminded her, gently.

“I swear, I’m tempted to learn Necromancy just so that I can dig him up, bring him back to life and have the pleasure of killing him!” Lucius gave a startled chuckle and he saw Narcissa smirk before she became sober again. “I should have realized long ago that Draco sees me as nothing more than a pretty ornament.”

“And I should have been….firmer. I allowed my father to bully me into giving our son everything he has ever wished and now, Draco believes he can do the same.” Lucius was loath to admit this, even to himself, but his son’s behavior this afternoon had made it crystal clear that Narcissa’s concerns had been valid. “What can we do to fix this?” To his relief, he saw a look of determination in his wife’s eyes.

“We will speak to him tomorrow.” She said, calm and decisive. “I believe, at the moment, our most pressing concern is that Draco does not understand the concept of consequences. He does not realize that everything he says and does—be it good or bad—affects how he is perceived and the choices he can and must make in the future. Your father taught him that, as a Malfoy, he is a prince of this world and that no one ever punishes a prince.” Lucius nodded, grimacing. 

“You’re right. I remember how difficult it was for me to learn how the world really worked. I had hoped to spare Draco some of that difficulty….”

“That may not be possible, my love.” Narcissa gave him a small, sad smile. “Draco’s childhood was, I regret to say, even more pampered than yours and he does not seem to have learned yet that he will have to work for what he wants in life. Nor does he know how to adapt to new circumstances.”

“Then it is up to me to teach him.” Lucius’ expression hardened.

“Us, dear. It is up to us to teach him. We must begin by presenting a united front.” Narcissa looked thoughtful. “I intend to begin giving Hermione some lessons in traditions, etiquette, and deportment after the party. I believe I will insist that Draco join us for those lessons.”

“And if he refuses?”

“Then I will have to punish him.” Narcissa caught his eye. “And you will need to resist the temptation to interfere.” Lucius nodded in acknowledgement. “Good. We can deal with this tomorrow. Now, tell me about your afternoon.” Glad for the shift in topic, Lucius briefly related his meeting with Fudge and then told her, in greater detail, about his conversation with Madam Bones.

“Do you think she’s interested in reviving the Old Alliance?” Narcissa was her usual calm and composed self, though her eyes were wide with excitement. “If she is, that could have some very….interesting repercussions.”

“I’m not sure.” Lucius admitted. “I had the impression that she wants to build a coalition amongst the students to counteract Dumbledore’s influence, rather than anything more….far-reaching. However, if the Old Alliance can truly be restored…..the possibilities are intriguing.” Lucius shared his wife’s enthusiasm for the idea, but he also knew it wouldn’t be easy to accomplish. “Dumbledore is going to do everything in his power to keep it from happening.”

“I know. I’m rather looking forward to it.” Narcissa flashed another one of those predatory smiles that made Lucius want to drop to his knees before her and beg for…..mercy? Release? He wasn’t certain. “Amelia is correct. We will need to deal with the Weasleys and neutralize any potential threat from that quarter. We also need to determine what has happened with the Black Legacy. I think…..” She trailed off, looking into the fire.

“Narcissa?”

“Hmmm? Oh, I’m sorry, I had an idea, but I want to consider it more carefully before we discuss it further. What did you think of Amelia’s suggestions concerning Hermione?” 

“She’s right in saying that the girl….Hermione…” he amended, quickly, seeing his wife’s disapproving look “is uniquely placed to influence most, if not all of the Scions currently at Hogwarts. She’s already close to Potter and Longbottom and I suspect that Amelia will encourage a friendship between Hermione and her niece. From what I can tell, Edric Clearwater came very close to saying that his family owes Hermione a debt, so that just leaves Greengrass and Lovegood. I admit that I’m not sure how to handle them. Balfur is so desperate to be seen as neutral that he’ll impale himself before he jumps off his fence and I’m not certain Xeno knows how to dress himself anymore, let alone….”

“Leave them to me.” Narcissa said. “I’ll introduce Hermione to Daphne Greengrass at the party. If things are handled correctly, Balfur won’t even know what he’s doing until he’s firmly aligned with us. As for Xenophilius Lovegood….well, I’ll have to think on that a bit. The Weasleys are his next-door neighbors so that complicates things a bit. But we have time to work that out. For now, I think we should focus on giving Hermione the correct information. I can teach her about the magic and traditions of the Old Alliance, but you know more about the history and politics than I do.” Lucius nodded.

“I’ll let her into the library tomorrow.” He said. “I’ll spend the next few days compiling a list of books for her to read.”

“We’ll need to move slowly.” Narcissa cautioned him. “We don’t want to overwhelm her or push her away.”

“Yes, I know.” Lucius sighed. “Draco could be a great help to us, but….”

“Perhaps by the time the children go back to Hogwarts, he will be ready to take on some of the responsibility.” Narcissa gave his hand a sympathetic pat. They talked late into the night and by the time they went to bed, Lucius was very pleased at the plans they had developed together.

As he drifted off to sleep, Lucius admitted to himself that his wie had been right about one thing, at least—Hermione Granger was going to be very useful to the Malfoy family. He was still convinced that she’d be living somewhere else by the end of the summer, but at least he now knew she’d earn her upkeep.

**

June 19, 1993

The light was wrong. Hermione didn’t want to open her eyes because the light was wrong and she knew that if she opened her eyes, she wouldn’t find herself in either her bedroom at home or in her four-poster bed in Gryffindor tower. She would be someplace where the light was wrong and where the people hated her and everything she stood for. Hermione prided herself on being able to accept reality, no matter how horrible, so she didn’t allow herself the comforting fantasy that everything she remembered was just some strange dream. She knew perfectly well that she was in a bed at Malfoy Manor because her parents had made one stupid, ill-informed decision about her life without even talking to her about it first. Still, she couldn’t make herself open her eyes because the light was wrong and she knew that, once she acknowledged the fact that she was in a strange room in a strange house, even the possibility of the fantasy would be gone.

Though she refused to open her eyes, Hermione’s brain was already busy processing her new reality. There was a lot to process since her mind had, for all intents and purposes, shut down once she’d gotten off the train at King’s Cross. That didn’t happen very often—only when Hermione was so overwhelmed with emotion that the rational side of her brain just couldn’t cope—but when it did, Hermione had found that the best approach to regaining her equilibrium was to be patient with herself while her brain slowly, but surely, filled in the blank spaces. It was a process that could take days, or even weeks, but Hermione knew that trying to force her mind to recall such events would make the process take longer.

She remembered the strange men who had appeared out of the crowd and told her that her magic was going to be bound. Then Mr. Weasley and Mr. Malfoy had intervened and one of the strangers had gotten very angry and cast a full Body-bind on her. She hadn’t even had time to be really frightened before another woman had intervened. Mr. Weasley had told her that the lady was the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and was, therefore, the boss of the two strange men. There had been a lot of shouting, but the only thing Hermione could clearly remember from all of it had been when one of the men—the one who’d kept crying—said that they’d already visited her parents. That was where things really began to get blurry.

She wasn’t sure how she’d gotten from the train station to Malfoy Manor, though she had the distinct impression that it had been rather uncomfortable. There had been dinner—soup of some sort—and Draco had spent the entire meal spewing hate at her and at his own mother. After that, Mrs. Malfoy had showed her to a bedroom and given her a cup of….something to drink. Hermione had spent the previous summer working her way through her mum’s “secret” stash of romance novels and there were several that featured a young heroine being given a drink laced with a sedative by a lecherous villain. She supposed that something similar had happened to her, only she doubted that any lechery had been involved. She devoutly hoped not, anyway.

That brought her up to the present. She was in a strange bed in a strange house with people who were virtual strangers. Well, Draco wasn’t a stranger, but that wasn’t a comforting thought at all. Her opinion of Mr. Malfoy—obtained from their one meeting in Flourish in Blotts and his behavior yesterday—was that he was simply a larger, scarier version of Draco. She’d only met Mrs. Malfoy a week ago and while Draco’s mother had certainly been more polite than Draco’s father, both Professors McGonagall and Snape had been present, and despite their brief acquaintance, Hermione was already certain that Narcissa Malfoy was far more intelligent than her son. She also had the distinct impression that Mrs. Malfoy wasn’t being as forthcoming about her motives for taking the poor Muggleborn into her home as she, perhaps, ought to have been. Despite her grief and anger at her situation, Hermione did have to admit to some curiosity as to what those motives really were.

With a sigh, Hermione forced her eyelids open. She had ten weeks to endure before she could return to the relative normalcy of Hogwarts and lying around in bed was certainly not going to make time pass any faster. Sitting up, she found herself in a surprisingly ordinary bedroom. From the way she’d heard Draco talk about his home, she’d envisioned something that was, in both size and opulence, on the same scale as Versailles. This bedroom, however, was smaller than the one she’d grown up in. In fact, it was only large enough to hold the bed, a nightstand, and a small table, on which stood a jug and basin. The walls were painted a delicate cream color and the bed linens were the same shade, with accents of pink roses. The only other distinguishing feature of the room was the fireplace, in which a blaze burned merrily. 

There were two doors along one of the walls and, not knowing what else to do, Hermione decided to try and find a bathroom. It was only as she approached the first door that she realized that she was wearing a nightgown that was, most definitely, not hers. The nightgown she’d packed away into her trunk was a practical, flannel thing that was plain, but warm and soft. This nightgown looked brand new, was made of some thin, flowy material Hermione didn’t recognize, and had lace and ribbon at neck and wrists. Again, Hermione was reminded of her mother’s romance novels.

The first door led to the bathroom. Unlike the bedroom, the bathroom reeked of money. The centerpiece was a huge, claw-footed bathtub that could have comfortably held three adults. One wall was taken up by a wooden cupboard, in which Hermione found mounds of the fluffiest white towels and baskets full of potions with labels stating that they were meant to be used on hair and body. Hermione had always used ordinary shampoo and body wash, but she’d seen advertisements for such potions in the magazines that Lavender left lying all over the dorm room and she knew that the bottles in the basket were only available from one of Diagon Alley’s most exclusive—and expensive--shops. Next to the cupboard was an alcove, containing a toilet. Across the room was a free-standing sink and a large vanity with three mirrors angled so that a person cold look at their reflection from almost every angle. The vanity table had several drawers, but they were all empty. After closing the last one, Hermione glanced into the mirror.

“Oh, yes.” The mirror purred at her. “Very nice. There’s a bit of work to do, but don’t worry dear. You have loads of potential.” Hermione stepped back in surprise. The bathroom mirror in the girl’s dorm never said anything about her potential—it just lamented the unmanageability of her hair.

After tending to nature’s call, Hermione returned to the bedroom where she was astonished to see that someone had made the bed and laid out a set of clothes. She hadn’t heard anyone enter or leave the bedroom and, though she wasn’t wearing her watch, she was certain she hadn’t been in the bathroom more than five minutes. 

The clothes were the same ones she had been wearing yesterday, though they had obviously been cleaned. Not knowing what else to do, Hermione got dressed. Her hairbrush and toothbrush were probably still in her trunk, but that was nowhere to be seen, so Hermione had to make do with running her fingers through her curls and rinsing her mouth out with several handfuls of water from the sink. Though her stomach was a tangle of knots comprised of fear and dread, Hermione knew that she could not hide in the bedroom forever. Warily, she opened the second door.

If Hermione had ever actually wanted to see a modern day version of Versailles, she found it here. She was standing in a room that was easily the size of her dorm room in Gryffindor Tower and that was more than large enough to accommodate three teenage girls. The walls were the same cream color as the bedroom, but these had the addition of ornate molding up near the ceiling. Large French windows were framed by massive velvet draperies that were the same shade of pink as the accents on the bed linens. Their excess fabric pooled on the floor in a way that reminded Hermione of some of the historic Parisian homes her parents had taken her to see. 

It was clear that the room was meant to be some combination of office, dressing room, and private sitting room. One corner was taken up by a large desk, behind which was an impossibly comfortable looking chair. A free-standing wardrobe stood sentinel in another corner and the center of the room was filled with comfortable chairs and small, spindly-legged tables that Hermione imagined were meant to hold cups of tea or needlework or something of that sort. The room reminded her of nothing so much as a fancy doll-house she’d seen in a shop window once. It was beautiful, but lacked any sort of life or personality.

In addition to the door through which she’d come, there was another on the wall near the wardrobe. Opening it, Hermione found herself staring out into a long, narrow hallway. She was just wondering what to do next when Narcissa Malfoy approached, as if she’d been summoned.

“Good morning.” She smiled. “It seems that you’re an early riser, too. Would you like some breakfast?” Before Hermione could formulate a response, her stomach gurgled, causing her to blush. “I’ll take that as a ‘yes.’” Mrs. Malfoy chuckled, placing a hand in the small of Hermione’s back and steering her towards one end of the hall. “Come along and I’ll show you to the Morning Room. That’s where we eat our meals when we don’t have company.” Hermione was soon completely lost as her host led her through a veritable maze of corridors, galleries, and staircases. 

Finally, they reached a small, surprisingly ordinary and cheerful looking room that boasted a round table set for four. Mrs. Malfoy seated herself and indicated that Hermione should take the place to her left. Since their tentative greeting, the pair hadn’t spoken and Hermione was at a loss as to what she should say.

“Now, what would you like for breakfast?” Mrs. Malfoy asked.

“Er….tea and toast, please?” Hermione wondered if the food would appear on her plate, the way it did during a Hogwarts feast.

“Mipsy!” Hermione nearly shrieked when, with a pop, a small creature appeared at Mrs. Malfoy’s side. It was roughly the size and shape of a small child, but it had an impossibly pointed nose, eyes that were roughly the shape and size and shape of tennis balls, and ears that were so long they flapped when the creature moved its head. It also had hair that was the color of a bright summer sky. It wore a toga-like garment that looked, to Hermione’s untrained eye, like it had been made from a tea towel. “Tea and toast for two, please.” 

“Yes, Mistress.” The little creature bowed, then disappeared again. 

“What….who was that?” Hermione asked.

“That was Mipsy. She’s one of our house elves.” Hermione gasped. She’d heard about house elves—or, more specifically, about one house elf—from Harry. To be frank, she’d rather forgotten about Dobby but now, everything Harry had told her came rushing back. It was very hard to reconcile that information with what she’d just seen.

“What are house elves, exactly?” she asked slowly.

“They’re a race of sentient, magical beings--like the goblins, the centaurs, the giants, and the merpeople. Unlike the other magical races, they weren’t just created by magic, they live on it.” Mrs. Malfoy paused, as a large teapot appeared in front of her, accompanied by a sugar bowl and a jug of cream. She poured for both of them.

“What does that mean, they live on magic?” Despite her fear, Hermione was intrigued and more than a little bit grateful to have something to talk about.

“They need magic to survive, the way you and I need food.” Mrs. Malfoy’s reply was astonishingly matter-of-fact. 

“Magic is energy.” Hermione said, slowly, “and everything I’ve read says it’s not just hanging around in the air or something like that. So, how do house elves get it?”

“Ah, Minerva and Severus told me you were intelligent.” Mrs. Malfoy beamed at her. “You’re right. Magic isn’t lying around waiting to be picked up by wizards or house elves…or, at least, not in quantities large enough to be useful to anyone. There are only a few places in the country with enough ambient magic to sustain house elves—Hogwarts is one of them.”

“There are….?” Hermione closed her mouth as she realized how blind she’d been—she’d never once wondered about how the laundry was done or how the food appeared on the tables or, for that matter, who cleaned up the Common Room after one of their pos-Quidditch parties. Suddenly, she felt rather ashamed of herself. If Mrs. Malfoy noticed, she chose to ignore it. 

“Even paces like Hogwarts can only support so many elves, so most of them prefer to bond with a witch or wizard.” There was another pop and two plates of perfectly toasted bread appeared on the table, followed by small containers of butter and jam. “When a witch or wizard casts a spell, there is a great deal of excess energy and the elves can feed off that if they share a bond with a witch or wizard.”

“Really?” Hermione had read Magical Theory by Adelbert Waffling, of course, but he had not mentioned anything about excess energy. “So, when we cast a spell, we’re giving off more energy than what’s used by the spell itself? What happens to it if a witch or wizard isn’t bound to a house elf who needs it?” Mrs. Malfoy paused in the middle of spreading jam on a piece of toast.

“To be honest, I’m not sure.” She said. “I suppose that’s covered in N.E.W.T. level Magical Theory classes, but I didn’t take those.” Hermione frowned. 

“I don’t think Hogwarts offers any Magical Theory classes.” She said. “It certainly wasn’t listed as one of our elective options for next year.” Mrs. Malfoy pursed her lips,

“That is….interesting.” She looked angry for a moment, but then seemed to remind herself that she was supposed to be cheerful. “Well, to return to the subject of house elves, they prefer to bond with a witch or wizard and feed off of his or her excess magic. The more powerful a witch or wizard is, the more house elves he or she can support. That reminds me…” She gave Hermione a thoughtful glance. “I was wondering if I could impose on you for a favor.”

“A favor?” Hermione was so surprised she nearly spilled half of the cream jug into her teacup.

“Yes. I’d be most grateful if you would be willing to bond with one of our house elves. Please, allow me to explain.” She said, before Hermione could interrupt. “I am aware that, to you, the arrangement that we have with house elves may seem very much like slavery—they need our magic to survive, so they are forced to serve us in order to get it. Am I correct?” Hermione blushed. Though she was loath to say it, that was exactly what she’d been thinking. However, the manners her parents had drilled into her as a child and her fear that Mrs. Malfoy’s pleasant demeanor was merely a façade that could disappear at any moment had kept her from saying so. Mrs. Malfoy seemed to read the answer on her face, for she sighed.

“I assure you, Hermione, that nothing could be further from the truth. The relationship between a witch or wizard and an elf is one of…partnership. Each provides the other with something he or she needs. You see, elves do not process magic the way we process food. They need to consume it, it is true, but it doesn’t….er….pass through them naturally the way food does through us. It remains inside of them until it is used, but it is very dangerous for them to hold too much of it for long. An elf who does not use the energy he receives from his witch or wizard can slowly be driven mad. We think that’s what happened to Dobby.”

“Dobby?” Hermione squeaked, suddenly terrified. She most definitely did not want the Malfoys to know how much she knew about the basilisk incident.

“Yes, Dobby. I believe your friend Harry met him. Such a sad state of affairs.” Mrs. Malfoy took a sip of tea before continuing. “Perhaps I should start at the beginning. Despite what your friend may have been led to believe, Dobby did not belong to my husband. We believe he belonged to my late father-in-law, Abraxas.”

“You’re not sure?” 

“We are not.” Hermione had the sense there was more meaning to that response than she was able to discern at the moment, but recognized that now was not the time to delve into the matter. “My late father-in-law suffered ill health—both of his mind and his body—during the last year of his life. Six months before he died, he chose to withdraw to his rooms, which he then had sealed off from the rest of the house. After his death, we found Dobby in there. It was clear that he had gone quite mad; we think that in his illness, Abraxas ordered Dobby not to do any magic and found other ways to badly abuse the poor elf. That is something that no proper witch or wizard would ever think of doing.” Mrs. Malfoy looked quite severe. Taking a deep breath, she took another sip of tea and continued.

“Unfortunately, my husband and I both maintain bonds with several elves already and Draco is not yet sold enough to carry a bond with more than one elf, so we could not give Dobby the help he needed. We wanted to send him to the Ministry or Saint Mungo’s, where he could recover, while getting the sustenance he needed. He….well, as I said, he was quite mad and wouldn’t accept that we couldn’t bond with him. He decided that he was bound to Lucius and began serving him, though he was forever doing things he had not been asked to do and punishing himself for no reason.”

“He…he told Harry that his family ordered him to punish himself whenever he made a mistake.” Hermione whispered. Mrs. Malfoy looked shocked.

“He….we…..oh!” There was a moment of silence, while Mrs. Malfoy took several bites of toast and refilled her teacup. Finally, she seemed to calm down, somewhat. “Forgive me, Hermione. I am not angry with you, with Mr. Potter, or even with Dobby. I believe that the poor creature was very badly treated by my late father-in-law. I can assure you that neither my husband, my son, nor I has ever been so foolish as to mistreat a house elf in such a manner. To do so would not only be unworthy of the bond we share, but it would also be….well, suicidal. The bond is tied directly to our magic, you see, so if a house elf wanted to punish a witch or wizard for treating him poorly he could, for instance, keep the abuser from accessing all his or her magic while he or she was trying to Apparate. That would lead to….”

“Splinching.” Hermione winced. There was something tickling at the back of her mind, but she was too interested in the conversation to pay it much attention.

“Exactly.”

“All right, so the relationship isn’t so much slavery as it is symbiosis?” When she saw Mrs. Malfoy’s look of confusion, Hermione explained how certain animals in nature developed mutually beneficial relationships with other animals. Once her explanation was complete, Mrs. Malfoy smiled.

“An excellent description. Yes, it’s a symbiotic relationship. Now, to return to our present situation. As I said, both Lucius and I carry several bonds and Draco carries one. Unfortunately, we have more elves than we can currently support.”

“Why? Do you really need so many elves to take care of the Manor?”

“Heavens, no! We would happily send those we cannot care for ourselves to either Hogwarts, the Ministry, or Saint. Mungo’s, but they are family elves, you see, and sending them away would make them very unhappy.”

“I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Elves have very long life spans.” Mrs. Malfoy explained. “On average, they live anywhere from five to six hundred years. I’ve heard of one house elf who lived to be over eight hundred and fifty years old! So, many elves serve several generations of the same family. They seem to like doing this and, usually, it’s not a problem. Now my family—the Blacks—are one of the oldest families in Wizarding Britain and, until quite recently, we’ve been rather numerous.   
There are several elves who have been with us for hundreds of years. Their children have grown up and bonded with members of the Black family and some of their grandchildren have now been born. Unfortunately, my family has been much diminished, of late. There are more elves than there are people, but the Black elves want to stay with the family.”

“How many are there?” Hermione asked. “I mean, how many elves don’t have bonds?”

“Five.” Resting her arms on the table, Mrs. Malfoy leaned forward. “It would be a great help to me if you could bond with one now. It is my hope that, as you grow older, you and Draco will both be able to take on more bonds, but for now, there is only one elf I am truly worried about.”

“Why? What’s wrong?” 

“Four of the un-bonded Black elves are adults.” Mrs. Malfoy sighed. “They all shared bonds with members of my family who are now deceased. As I understand it, adult elves who have experienced a bond find it easier to harvest wild magic if they cannot find a human to bond with. Tori, Mipsy’s granddaughter, is—in elf terms—still a child and has never had a bond. She receives nourishment from her parents, but is getting to an age where that will no longer be enough to sustain her, yet she cannot harvest enough wild magic to sustain herself.”

“But how can I help her now? I won’t be able to do magic until I go back to Hogwarts.” Mrs. Malfoy smiled. 

“Do you know why young witches and wizards are not allowed to use magic unsupervised until they turn seventeen?” Hermione chewed her lip, trying to recall everything she’d ever read on the subject.

“It’s because our cores are still growing, isn’t it?” She said. “We can’t gain full control of our magic until our cores have fully developed and….oh!” Realization made her eyes go wide. “We can’t control our magic, so we’re shedding energy, even when we’re not casting spells.”

“Very good.” Mrs. Malfoy was practically beaming. Hermione had the rather mad notion that she wanted to award House points. “Bonded elves can feed off that energy as well as the energy that is created by casting spells.”

“And that’s why kids can only bond with one elf, isn’t it?” Hermione asked. “Because there’s only enough of that extra energy to feed one?”

“Precisely.” Hermione nearly jumped out of her seat as Mr. Malfoy strode into the room. Pausing to brush a kiss on the top of his wife’s head, he eyed Hermione speculatively. “I am surprised. I cannot remember the last time I spoke to a Hogwarts student who was able to make that connection.”

“Yes, well….” Narcissa’s lips were pressed together and her good mood appeared to have vanished. “I suspect that it is the school’s deficiency and not that of the students. I must make a point of examining the Hogwarts curriculum before the next meeting of the Board of Governors.” She shook herself and smiled, as though nothing in the world was wrong. “Good morning, my love. I was just explaining our house elf problem to Hermione and asking her if she would be willing to bond with young Tori.”

“And will she help?” Mr. Malfoy was smiling as he took the seat across the table from his wife, but Hermione noticed that he seemed to be trying to avoid looking at her.

“I’d like to help, if I can.” Hermione replied, quietly. Some of her nerves had vanished while she’d been talking with Mrs. Malfoy, but Mr. Malfoy’s arrival brought them back in spades. Not only was he a very intimidating person, but she also knew that he disliked Muggleborns and was fairly sure that he disliked her, personally.

“Excellent!” Mrs. Malfoy clapped her hands together. “Tori is currently at Black Manor, but I’ll ask Mipsy to be sure she’s here in time for lunch.”

“You’re wearing Muggle clothes.” Mr. Malfoy said. Hermione’s breath caught in her throat. He was looking at her now, but he wasn’t smiling. He was, in fact, scowling.

“I…don’t have any robes other than my school uniforms.” Hermione faltered, feeling tears pricking her eyes.

“Really, Lucius!” Mrs. Malfoy’s voice was soft, but there was a new sharpness to him that caught Hermione’s attention, as well as that of her husband. “You seem to forget that Hermione hasn’t had the opportunity to spend any time in the magical world outside of Hogwarts. She would have had no need for witch’s robes before now.”

“You are correct, of course, my dear.” Hermione was astonished to see that Lucius Malfoy—the man who had been so terrifyingly cold just a moment ago, was flushed with embarrassment. “I apologize, Miss….er…Hermione. I did not mean to offend.”

“It’s all right.” Hermione found that the whole scene made her very uncomfortable. 

“I thought I would give Hermione the morning to settle in and then I will take the children to Diagon Alley this afternoon.” Mrs. Malfoy’s voice was a little too bright, but Hermione was grateful for her chatter. She spent the next few minutes listening to Mrs. Malfoy discuss the merits of various clothing stores and Mr. Malfoy complain about the incompetence of various Ministry officials with whom he had to deal. She had just finished her second cup of tea when Draco arrived.

“You’re still here.” He said, glaring at her. “Honestly, Mother, how can you expect me to eat anything with this stench….?

“Draco!” His mother snapped. “If you cannot be civil, be silent!”

“Father….” To Hermione, Draco sounded exactly the same way he did when he was running to Professor Snape to tell tales on Harry.

“That is enough, Draco. Sit down and eat your breakfast.” Mr. Malfoy looked rather annoyed while Mrs. Malfoy looked ready to spit nails. Sullenly, Draco threw himself into the seat across the table from Hermione.

“Topsy!” He called. Another house elf arrived with a ‘pop’, though Hermione wasn’t quite so startled by its appearance this time. Its hair was a bright red and its ears were significantly longer than Mipsy’s had been. For some reason she couldn’t articulate, Hermione had the distinct impression that this elf was male. “I’d like scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and pumpkin juice, please.” To Hermione’s astonishment, Draco was being polite and was actually smiled at the little elf in what appeared to be genuine affection.

“Now that we’re all here, I’d like to go over the plans for today.” That bright, almost brittle tone was back in Mrs. Malfoy’s voice, though she was not making any effort to smile. “Draco, as I already told Hermione and your father, I will be taking you children to Diagon Alley this afternoon Will you be able to join us, Lucius?”

“’m afraid not.” Mr. Malfoy said. “I am sure that, by now, the Minister has started meddling in the investigation into yesterday’s events. I think it is very likely that I will have to spend most of the day dealing with that—either at the Ministry or in my office. I am also meeting with Madam Bones to continue yesterday’s discussion.” Hermione couldn’t help but be curious about this cryptic statement, but it was clear Mr. Malfoy had no intention of being more forthcoming. “But I will not leave until after we have had our discussion with Draco.”

“Discussion?” Draco looked up from the cup of tea he was preparing for himself, startled.

“Your end of term report arrived last week.” Mr. Malfoy said. What little color there was in Draco’s face disappeared. “Hermione, I was told that due to the length of your….incapacitation, you will not receive an end-of-term report. It is my understanding that you have been given assignments you must complete this summer In order to be ready to begin third-year coursework in the fall. Is that correct?”

“Yes, sir.” Hermione said, trying not to fidget under Mr. Malfoy’s gaze. Draco sneered, but said nothing.

“Very well. Your tutor will be informed and will give you whatever instruction or support you require to complete the work.”

“A tutor?” Hermione felt a slight tingle of excitement. 

“Yes.” Mrs. Malfoy looked quite pleased with herself. “I received confirmation yesterday. Madam Septima Vector will be coming to stay with us this summer and she’ll be working with both of you.” Draco did not seem to be surprised by the news.

“Vector…Vector…” he hummed to himself. “They’re an old family, aren’t they?”

“They are.” Mr. Malfoy nodded. “More importantly, Madam Vector teaches Arithmancy at Hogwarts, so this will be an excellent opportunity for both of you to make a good impression.”

“Is this…um…usual in wizarding households?” Hermione asked, carefully. She couldn’t have cared less about Draco’s opinion of her, but Mr. Malfoy frightened her a great deal and she was painfully aware of the power and control he now had over her life. “Hiring a tutor for the summer, I mean.”

“It used to be quite common among the older families.” Mrs. Malfoy replied, after taking a sip of her tea. “As I’m sure you’ve realized, the curriculum at Hogwarts is quite….limited. Tutors were hired to flesh out a young person’s education, in matters of magic, politics, and the social niceties. Unfortunately, the custom has rather fallen out of fashion of late. We are very lucky that Professor Vector agreed to take the position.” She shot a pointed look at her son, who seemed to be oblivious. “She has agreed to see to it that both of you are well-prepared to begin your third year at Hogwarts.”

“Indeed.” Mr. Malfoy poured a cup of tea for himself. “Hermione, I’ve prepared a space for you to work in the library and….”

“The library?” Draco looked appalled. “You can’t let her into the library, Father. She’s a filthy Mudblood who….”

“Silence!” Mr. Malfoy roared, startling Hermione so badly that she nearly dropped her teacup. The man was breathing heavily through his nose and staring at his son. “Go to my office and wait there. Touch nothing. Your mother and I will be along in a few minutes. Be assured that your grades are not the only thing we will be discussing.”

“But what about breakfast?” Though she could hardly claim to know Mr. Malfoy well enough to note the subtle aspects of his expression, Hermione could clearly see that Draco was pushing his father beyond all bounds of reason.

“Go!” He shouted. Draco finally seemed to get the message and scurried out of the room as quickly as possible. “Topsy!” The small elf reappeared, looking anxious. “Master Draco is going to my office to eat. Please see to it that he does not make a mess.” The elf nodded once, then disappeared again. Obviously still furious, Mr. Malfoy threw his napkin down onto the table and stood. “Follow me.” He ordered, then strode out of the room.

Not knowing what else to do, Hermione followed him, while Mrs. Malfoy brought up the rear of their small procession. The Morning Room opened onto a large chamber that reminded Hermione of the entrance hall she’d seen at some stately old manor house she’d toured once with her parents. The walls were paneled in dark wood and the floor was comprised of smooth, polished stones. The only furniture in the room was a large, marble table on top of which sat an equally large urn full of flowers. There were several doors leading off the chamber into other parts of the house and there was even a grand staircase, complete with an ornately carved banister. This was not the staircase she’d come down earlier.

Hermione followed Mr. Malfoy through one of the doors and down a short corridor that ended at yet another door. Here, he stopped and turned to face her. He appeared to have regained control of his temper, though his face was still flushed.

“This is the library.” He said. “Use of this room is a privilege. Violation of any of the rules will result in a cancellation of that privilege. Am I understood?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Many of the books in this room are very old and highly magical. They are to be treated with respect at all times, is that clear? You are not to write in them, rip or fold the pages, or deface them in any other way. Food is not allowed in here at any time and you may only have beverages served to you in certain areas. If you remove a book from the shelves, I expect you to put it back where you found it when you are finished with it.” With that, Mr. Malfoy threw open the door and strode into the room beyond. Hermione stepped through the door and stopped, her mind blank with shock.

Throughout her childhood, her parents had made it a point to take her to many of the important historic sites throughout the British isles, including the manor homes of some of history’s leading lights. She’d seen her share of renowned libraries and had found them all to be duly impressive. Compared to the Malfoy library, they were tiny.

While Hermione hadn’t seen the exterior of Malfoy Manor yet, she 

**

Narcissa watched the wonder and awe pass across Hermione’s face. As she saw Lucius try to hide his pleased smile, she felt a small knot of tension ease within her chest. While she knew Lucius would make a sincere effort to be polite to Hermione, her instinct told her that it was imperative that the two of them find some common ground on which they could base a real relationship. Clearly, they had found it in their shared love of books. 

“This way.” Lucius had to tap Hermione’s shoulder to get her attention, but she followed him eagerly enough, as he led them to one corner of the room. There, Narcissa saw, he had arranged a worktable, as well as a comfortable armchair in front of a small, cheerful fireplace. Hermione’s trunk was already there, waiting for her. “You may do your school work in here without fear of unnecessary disruptions.” Lucius’ mouth twisted in anger and Narcissa knew he was thinking of Draco, who had been banned from the library for repeated offenses against the precious books. “You may have tea in this area, but nowhere else. You may read anything on this floor and the next, but many of the books on the upper two floors are heavily enchanted or cursed, so do not touch them without my permission. You may keep books here until you have finished, but I insist you use a bookmark to mark your place. If I see one page with a folded corner….”

“Oh no, sir!” Hermione gasped. “I won’t…I would never….”

“Good.” Lucius seemed at a loss as to what to say next, so Narcissa decided to render him some assistance.

“Hermione, we need to speak to Draco for a bit. Will you be all right if we leave you here to get settled?”

“Oh yes….” Narcissa almost laughed at the dreamy expression on the girl’s face. She had seen a similar look on her husband’s face, more than once.

“Very well. I will come back to fetch you in time for lunch. Lucius, shall we?” Narcissa waited until they were back in the hallway, before turning and kissing her surprised husband on the cheek. “Thank you. That was a very thoughtful gesture, dear.”

“Well,” Lucius looked somewhat embarrassed. “after my conversation with Amelia Bones yesterday, I realized that you were correct. Hermione will be quite useful to us. Giving her a place to work is a small enough thing and I started composing that reading list….”

“I’ll leave that in your capable hands, then.” Narcissa laughed. Whether he wanted to admit it or not, she could tell that Lucius was excited to have such an eager student with whom to share his passions. “Now, let’s get this over with.” 

**

June 19 (cont.)  
The Ministry of Magic

Albus Dumbledore was not having a good morning. Truth be told, things had not gone well for him since the night Harry Potter had saved Ginny Weasley from the basilisk. Though he would never admit such to anyone else, that entire situation had spun wildly out of Albus’ control and he hadn’t been prepared for its sudden resolution. Because of this, too many people knew too much and awkward questions were being asked.

To make matters worse, his (admittedly rash) decision to give the students a treat by cancelling exams had only served to irritate parents and staff in almost equal measure. Albus had hoped that the I.C.W.’s annual conference would serve as something of a respite, but the meeting had gone, in a word, horribly. He had lost his bid for re-election and, thus, was no longer Supreme Mugwump. Fortunately, he was certain he could keep the Ministry from finding out until he had a plan for how to deal with the situation. 

He had returned to Hogwarts just in time to wish the children a safe journey home, then locked himself in his office, admitting no one, while he read reports from his agents in the Balkans and tried to plan his next move. He knew that his habit of ignoring school business in favor of more important matters irritated his Deputy Headmistress, but he hadn’t expected her to be angry enough to overpower the charms he’d placed on the statue that guarded the entrance to his office. She’d been almost incoherent with rage by the time she’d stormed into his inner sanctum and it had taken Albus nearly ten minutes to calm her down. Where she was finally capable of coherent speech, she’d told him the entire story; about Hermione Granger’s parents’ decision to pull her out of Hogwarts and about the bid by the Malfoys to adopt the girl. She had laid the blame for all of this at Albus’ feet and, despite his best efforts, he had not been able to convince her otherwise. 

By the time he’d finally managed to free himself from Minerva’s clutches, everyone Albus needed to speak with at the Ministry had retired for the evening, so he had had no choice but to wait until morning. He had planned to be at the Ministry when it opened, but was delayed when the Heads of House had cornered him regarding what he thought were trivial matters. He had attempted to put them off, claiming urgent business, but Pomona Sprout had had the temerity to stand in his doorway, refusing to move.

“Headmaster, I realize this might come as a surprise to you,” Filius Flitwick said, in a voice so dry Albus was surprised that the man wasn’t suffering from dehydration “but some of us have things to do this summer. You have been putting us off for three weeks and I, for one, have no intention of waiting around until you finally decide to do your job!” As a result of this mutiny, it was nearly eleven o’clock when Albus finally entered the Ministry’s Atrium. As he made his way towards the lifts, he couldn’t help but notice the sour and angry looks he was getting from many of the Ministry workers and visitors around him. This puzzled him until he passed a stand carrying today’s issue of The Daily Prophet. 

The newspaper’s front page was dominated by a moving photograph that clearly showed a wizard in Auror robes casting a spell that hit Hermione Granger in the chest. The two were surrounded by a large group of people, including the Weasleys and the Malfoys. The headline read: 

MINISTRY ATTEMPTS TO ABDUCT STUDENT OFF THE HOGWARTS EXPRESS; AURORS THREATEN TO OBLIVIATE, BIND HER MAGIC!

Albus quickly scanned the article and stifled a groan. He had hoped to keep this affair quiet, but there was no hope of that happening now. Not only was Miss Granger now firmly in the hands of the Malfoys, but the author of the article seemed to take great glee in pointing out that he, Albus Dumbledore, had been made aware of the situation and had chosen not to act. The hack even went so far as to imply that it was his fault that she was even in this situation to begin with. If he hadn’t known any better, Albus might have thought that Minerva had taken up a part time position as a reporter. 

The publicity garnered by the incident at the train station forced Albus to reconsider his plans. He had originally intended to visit the office of Magical Children’s Services and charm a case worker (with his personality, if possible, and with his wand, if not) into believing that he had, in fact, submitted the proper paperwork to make Miss Granger a ward of Hogwarts. However, the reporter had clearly done her due diligence and the article featured a quote from the witch who ran the MCS office, in which she categorically denied receiving any communication concerning Miss Granger from anyone other than the Malfoys. 

His best option now was to convince Amelia Bones that the girl wasn’t safe with the Malfoys. He was certain that that this would not be difficult to do, but he was equally certain that Amelia would expect him to come up with a better alternative before she would act. The difficulty was that the girl could not be brought to Hogwarts—Albus was going to have to present his lack of intervention as a deliberate choice, rather than negligence—but he was certain that Arthur and Molly could be prevailed upon to add another chick to their flock. Albus might have to dip into the school’s funds to help defray their expenses, but that was a small price to pay for everyone’s peace of mind.

His decision made, Albus took the lift to the ?? floor and strode towards the office of the DMLE. Waving aside the protests of the Director’s secretary, he strode into Amelia Bones’ office without knocking.

“Forgive the interruption, Amelia, but I really must….” Albus trailed off as he came face to face with Lucius Malfoy. The blonde man smirked at him, before returning his attention to Amelia Bones, who was glaring at Albus. 

“Thank you for your time, Amelia.” Malfoy said, giving a small bow. “If you will let me know when the Aurors are coming, I will see to it that Narcissa and the children are out of the house.” 

“Certainly.” Amelia gave a him a gracious smile. “And that you for bringing these matters to my attention.” Without a glance in Albus’ direction, the tall man swept out of the room.

“Aurors?” Albus asked, his curiosity piqued. 

“It’s none of your concern, Albus.” Amelia said, firmly. “Now, while I would have preferred you make an appointment, I’m glad to see that you’ve finally decided to respond to my letters. With your cooperation, we should be able to conclude our business in time for lunch.”

“Ah…” Albus was caught a bit flat-footed by her statement. “I’m afraid you’ve caught me at a disadvantage, Amelia. To what letters are you referring?”

“Oh, honestly! How does Minerva put up with you?” Amelia threw up her hands in exasperation. “Have a seat. We have a lot to talk about.”

“Indeed.” Albus absently conjured a squashy armchair and made himself comfortable, ignoring the glare that she was sending his way. “I’d like to begin by discussing the unfortunate situation with Hermione Granger.” Amelia opened her mouth, obviously ready to protest, but appeared to change her mind. Albus took that as a good sign.

“While I agree that what happened to Miss Granger….excuse me, Miss Malfoy is, indeed, unfortunate, I am satisfied with how the matter has been resolved—in so far as her safety and well-being are concerned, at any rate. The Auror and Obliviator who accosted her at the station and the person who ordered them to do so will all be brought up on charges before the Wizengamot. Whether the Minister likes it or not.” This last statement was accompanied by a dark look.

“How can you be satisfied?” Albus stared at her, aghast. “The poor girl has been ripped from the heart of her family and sent to live with people who despise her!”

“None of which would have happened if you’d done your damn job!” Amelia snapped. “Face it, Albus, this entire mess is your fault.”

“My fault?” Amelia’s anger struck him like a physical blow. He was used to Minerva’s tempers and had no doubts that she would get over her anger with him in the fullness of time. Amelia Bones, on the other hand, was notorious for keeping her cool and holding a grudge. If she held him responsible for the Granger girl’s plight, then things were much more serious than he’d initially thought. “Believe me, Amelia, no one regrets the attack on Miss Granger more than I do….”

“You would be wise to remember that she is Miss Malfoy, now. And if, as you say, you regret the attack, then why did you leave the task of dealing with the attacker to a twelve-year old boy?” Amelia asked. Albus’ blood ran cold.

“Whatever Lucius Malfoy may have told you…”

“Lucius?” Amelia’s eyebrows rose. “What makes you think I heard about this from Lucius? No, I got the whole story from Minerva.” Few people knew it, but Albus Dumbledore was quite well educated in the proper use of profanity in no less than seventeen different languages—three of which were now extinct. Though his expression never wavered, his mind was currently screaming every single curse word he knew. Not only did Amelia know more—far more—than he wanted her to know, he’d alerted her to the fact that Lucius Malfoy also knew more than he had apparently told her—and, worst of all, that he knew what Lucius knew. Albus couldn’t afford to have Lucius’ role in the basilisk affair exposed…not yet, anyway.

“Ah, forgive me. I was not aware that you and Minerva had spoken.” He said, doing his best to keep his tone light and unconcerned. He was going to have to do something about Minerva. She couldn’t be allowed to put his plans in jeopardy like this.

“Yes, well….when you didn’t respond to any of my letters, I took it upon myself to contact her.”

“Ah, the mysterious letters.” Albus sat back in his chair and eyed Amelia over the rims of his spectacles. He knew better than to attempt Legillimency on the woman in her own office, but he considered himself an expert at reading people and hoped that she might give something away with a slight twitch of her nose or narrowing of the eyes. “May I ask what prompted you to send them in the first place?” Amelia shrugged.

“That seems as good a place to start as any, I suppose. Edric Clearwater has filed a formal complaint against the school and against you, in particular.” Again, Albus mentally reviewed his extensive vocabulary of expletives. While he’d been able to use the school rules to keep Poppy from notifying the parents of the muggleborn students who had been attacked, he hadn’t been able to stop her from contacting Penelope Clearwater’s parents. He thought he had persuaded Edric to allow him to handle matters, but it appeared that the man had gotten impatient.

“A complaint?”

“Yes. It seems that his daughter was Petrified for two months and that the school refused to do anything to remedy that situation.”

“Well…” Albus spread his hands out in a gesture of helplessness. “How could I help poor Penelope? If you will recall, I was asked to leave the school the very night that she was Petrified. In my absence, decisions about her care…or lack thereof….fell to Miss Clearwater’s Head of House.”

“That is what I told Edric. We processed his complaint against the school right away, but I told him that you could not be held responsible for the fact that Penelope received no treatment because you had officially been suspended.” Amelia sat back in her own chair and leveled a gaze at Albus. “Do you know what his response was?”

“How could I?”

“He asked me why the school nurse could not simply give Penelope the same remedy she’d given to the victims of the previous attacks.” Albus opened his mouth to respond, but Amelia held up a hand, forestalling interruption. “Apparently, both Professor Flitwick and Madam Pomfrey told him that there wasn’t a drop of Restorative Draught to be had in the entire school and that all those Petrified had to wait until the mandrakes in the school’s greenhouses had reached maturity so that more could be made. He found this response to be most surprising, since you had given him the impression that the previous victims had already been dosed and were—as you put it—‘right as rain.’ I will add that you told me much the same thing when I spoke to you about the matter over the winter holidays. At that time, you also said you knew who had perpetrated the attacks and that you had dealt with the matter. So, which is it, Albus?” Amelia leaned forward suddenly and Albus had the fleeting image of a predator closing in for the kill. “Did Madam Pomfrey lie to Edric Clearwater or did you lie to him….and to me? And while we’re at it, why don’t you tell me why Madam Pomfrey says that you would not permit her to obtain Mandrake Restorative Draught from St. Mungo’s, Gringotts, or any one of the dozen places where it is readily available?” 

Albus had to fight the urge to squirm under her direct gaze. Though the thought was tempting, he knew there was no way to shift the blame for this mess entirely onto Poppy’s shoulders. If the students had still been in school, perhaps he could have managed it, but since they were no longer in the castle, it would be easy enough for Amelia to verify the truth or falsity of his statements. She wouldn’t have to go far to do it, either, since her niece lived with her. Still, while he had no choice but to admit to lying, there was no reason he couldn’t put the best possible spin on the situation…

For the next hour, Albus found himself trying to justify every decision he’d made surrounding the attacks on the students and the attempts he’d made to uncover the identity of the attacker, to an increasingly skeptical Amelia Bones. Since she was a member of the Board of Governors, he couldn’t even refuse to answer her questions on the grounds that it was “Hogwarts business” and, thus, no concern of the Ministry. She finally released him, stating that Aurors would be at the castle within the week, conducting a thorough search to ensure that no other beasts were lurking around posing a danger to the students.

“That is really not necessary.” He protested.

“I’m afraid that the decision is not yours to make.” Amelia said, firmly. “This matter clearly falls under the jurisdiction of the Board of Governors. I have already made the necessary arrangements with Minerva. Now, if that is all, I have quite a bit to do today. I’m sure we’ll talk again at the Board Meeting in July.” The smile she gave him made Albus suspect that she would have some more uncomfortable questions for him then.

**

Malfoy Manor

All things considered, Hermione felt that her first morning as a Malfoy could have been better, but it also could have been much worse. After Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy left her alone in the library, she spent some time simply wandering through the stacks, trying to suss out the lay of the land. It took her nearly an hour to pick out a book to read, but when she returned to the cozy alcove Mr. Malfoy had created for her, she’d been struck with an intense wave of homesickness, guilt and grief. Fortunately, there was a stash of handkerchiefs in her trunk that had come in handy. Once Hermione recovered herself, she spent the rest of the morning working on a Charms essay, occasionally venturing out into the rest of the library to find additional resources.

With the essay complete, Hermione allowed herself to curl up with the copy of Magical England Through the Ages she’d found on a nearby shelf. She had only gotten through the first chapter, when someone tapped her shoulder. Stifling a startled scream, she looked up to see Mrs. Malfoy smiling down at her.

“I didn’t mean to startle you, but lunch is ready.” Nodding, Hermione carefully marked her place with a bookmark she’d found in her trunk, set the book on the table and followed Mrs. Malfoy out of the library and back into the Morning Room. There, she found two house elves waiting for them. One was Mipsy and the other looked like Mipsy’s clone, only done on a quarter scale. 

“Hermione, this is Tori, Mipsy’s granddaughter. Tori, this is Miss Hermione.” Not knowing what else to do, Hermione knelt so that she could be at the same eye level as the little elf.

“Hello, Tori.” She said. “It’s nice to meet you.” Tori stared at her with wide eyes, then turned to look at her grandmother.

“Is the young miss really wanting to bond with Tori?”

“She is, Tori.” Mrs. Malfoy was giving them all a fond smile. “Hermione is very new to our world and I’m sure your assistance will be invaluable to her. Has Mipsy explained the house rules to you?” The little elf nodded, vigorously.

“House rules?” Hermione asked.

“You will bond with Tori and it will be her job to look after you.” Mrs. Malfoy explained. “However, until you come of age, Tori will be our servant and not yours. That means that she must obey the rules we set down for you, even if you ask her to do otherwise.” Hermione nodded. That made good sense. “It also means that you cannot free her, accidentally or intentionally.”

“Oh, good.” Hermione said, rather weakly. “I wouldn’t want to give her clothes by mistake.” Seeing Mrs. Malfoy’s confused expression, Hermione quickly repeated what Harry had told her about his last meeting with Dobby.

“That is…interesting.” Mrs. Malfoy looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook her head as if to clear it. “There is no need for you to worry, freeing an elf can be done accidentally, but it isn’t quite that easy. Now, why don’t we get you two bonded before the others arrive?”

As it turned out, the process of bonding with a house elf was remarkably similar to the accounts Hermione had read of feudal lords and vassals swearing allegiance to one another. Hermione held Tori’s clasped hands between her own and promised to protect her, care for her, and to treat her with dignity and respect. In return, Tori promised to serve Hermione to the best of her abilities. There was a brief flash of light and, when Hermione could see again, there was a faint glow around their joined hands. She could also feel a tiny presence in the back of her mind that hadn’t been there before. She supposed must be the bond. It was a decidedly odd, but not unpleasant, sensation. Once the ritual was complete, Hermione sat in the same chair she’d occupied at breakfast, while Mrs. Malfoy spoke to Mipsy and Tori.

“Mipsy, please inform Topsy that Master Draco may come down to lunch now. We will all have some of your excellent French onion soup, followed by sandwiches.” Mipsy nodded and disappeared. “Tori, I will be taking Miss Hermione and Master Draco shopping this afternoon. I would like for you to accompany us. Miss Hermione has never worn proper witch’s robes before and may need your assistance.” For some reason, this irritated Hermione.

“I’ve never had a problem with the Hogwarts uniforms.” She said. Mrs. Malfoy gave a delicate, yet disdainful, sniff.

“Those can hardly be called proper witch’s robes.” She said, dismissively. “They’re sacks with holes cut out for the arms and head.” Before she could say anything else, Mr. Malfoy strode into the room, followed by Draco. Draco threw himself into his seat and glared at everyone, but said nothing. Mr. Malfoy dropped a kiss onto the top of his wife’s head, much as he had that morning, and gave a polite nod to Hermione before seating himself. As if this was some kind of cue, four bowls of soup appeared on the table.

“How were things at the Ministry?” Mrs. Malfoy asked after everyone had eaten a few bites.

“About as I expected.” Mr. Malfoy shrugged. “The Minister released Umbridge and Dawlish and is attempting to pass all the blame onto Crayle. It won’t work, of course. There were simply too many witnesses, including that reporter and photographer from The Daily Prophet. Cornelius is attempting to convince Amelia to drop the matter, but from what I understand, she has more than enough evidence to bring them all before the Wizengamot.” The question slipped out before Hermione could stop herself.

“But what is the Wizengamot?” As soon as she saw the sneer on Mr. Malfoy’s face, she knew she’d said something wrong. Even Mrs. Malfoy looked shocked and rather disturbed at her question. Draco was the first person to speak.

“You…are you joking, Granger? You mean to say you really don’t know?”

“I know it’s something to do with the way that witches and wizards govern themselves, but I’m not sure whether it’s a legislative body or a court or….what’s so funny?” She glared at Draco, who was now snickering. “Do you know how Parliament works? Hmmm?” 

“What’s Parliament?” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“What we do and do not know about the Parliament is irrelevant.” Mr. Malfoy said, looking down his nose at her. “We are not Muggles and have as little as possible to do with them or their government. I must say that I am rather shocked by your ignorance in such matters, Miss Granger. Surely someone of your supposed intellect made more than a minimal effort to obtain some basic information about the Wizarding world before setting foot in it.” Hermione bristled and her anger overrode the fear that had gripped her since she’d first learned that the Malfoys were to be her new guardians. In that moment, she didn’t care if they made her live in the stables or forced her to cook their meals and wash their soiled linens. Nobody insulted her intelligence. 

“And just where was I supposed to get all this ‘basic information’?” she asked. Mr. Malfoy was so surprised by her outburst that he forgot to sneer at her. “The pamphlets I got from the Ministry only talked about Hogwarts and the Statute of Secrecy and there aren’t any books about the Wizarding government in Flourish and Blotts or in the Hogwarts library. I know – I looked for them and I even asked Madam Pince!” 

“But….didn’t they teach you about the government in your Muggleborn Orientation class?” Mrs. Malfoy asked, looking genuinely confused. Hermione goggled at her.

“There’s a class?” A small part of her mind recognized that she was starting to sound shrill, so she made a conscious effort to lower her voice. “Mrs. Malfoy, I was never told about any sort of orientation class. Neither were any of the other Muggleborn students I talked to. I asked around when I started Hogwarts because I was so frustrated I couldn’t find anything in the library.” The elder Malfoys exchanged a significant glance across the table.

“Hermione,” Mrs. Malfoy began, slowly. “we have been led to believe that all muggleborn students are required to attend a class prior to starting their magical education and that they are provided with a number of resources they can study on their own. We were told that you are taught about our history, our culture, our laws….” Her voice trailed off as Hermione shook her head.

“Like I said, I only got some pamphlets on Hogwarts and the Statute of Secrecy. Oh, and there was one that gave directions to Diagon Alley and explained how to get through the barrier at King’s Cross Station. My father had to pay the goblins before they would give him any information about the bank and the currency and the exchange rate.”

“Do you….do you still have these pamphlets?” Mr. Malfoy asked, slowly. All traces of scorn and disdain had gone from his face, as had most of the color. He looked as if he might be sick to his stomach.

“They’re in my trunk, somewhere.” Hermione shrugged. 

“I’d….I’d like to see them, if I may.”

“Now?”

“Please.” Hermione sighed and pushed her chair back, just as a large plate of sandwiches appeared on the table.

“Where are you going?” Mrs. Malfoy asked.

“To the library to get the pamphlets out of my trunk.” Hermione froze as Mrs. Malfoy put a gentle hand on her arm.

“Why don’t you ask Tori to fetch them for you? I’m sure she’d be delighted to do it.”

“Er….all right.” Hermione paused. “Where is she? Or should I just call her?” Draco muttered something that earned him a sharp rebuke from both of his parents, before Mrs. Malfoy answered her question.

“Just call for her, dear. That’s the easiest way.” 

“Oh.” Hermione sank back down into her seat. “Tori?” she called, tentatively. The little elf appeared at her elbow. 

“Yes? What can Tori be doing for the young miss?”

“Could you please go fetch the pamphlets out of my trunk? The trunk Is in the library and the pamphlets are all together, though I’m not entirely sure where….” Before she could finish, Tori vanished. Hermione had barely had time to pull her chair back up to the table and help herself to a sandwich, when the elf was back, holding a small stack of pamphlets.

“Thank you, Tori.” Hermione smiled at the elf, who beamed back at her, then vanished again. Hermione picked up the pile and began riffling through it, pulling out the ones from the Ministry and placing them on the table next to Mr. Malfoy’s elbow. The rest, she put next to her own plate, planning to take them back to the library with her after she was finished eating. Mr. Malfoy ignored his sandwich in favor of picking up the first pamphlet and reading. Mrs. Malfoy put a curious finger on top of the second pile.

“What are these?”

“Oh, those are copies of the pamphlets that were left in the Common Room for rising third years.” Hermione explained. “They’re all about careers in the Wizarding world. I think they’re supposed to help us pick out our electives but, to be honest, I didn’t get much useful information out of any of them.”

“I should like to see those as well, if you don’t mind.” Mr. Malfoy murmured, looking up from a pamphlet on the Statute of Secrecy and how it applied to the families of Muggleborn students (What to Know When You’re in the Know!). Hermione nodded and moved the second stack so that it was within easy reach.

“Have you two selected your electives, yet?” Mrs. Malfoy asked, clearly eager to move on from the unpleasantness.

“I’m taking Estate Management and Care of Magical Creatures.” Draco announced.

“Estate Management?” Hermione frowned. “What’s that? I don’t remember hearing about it.”

“You wouldn’t have.” Draco shrugged. “It’s only available to the heirs of estates.” He gave her a wicked leer. “No Mud….muggleborns allowed.”

“Draco….” His mother sighed. Hermione’s mind had, however, latched on to something else.

“So, what? It’s all about wealth management and investing and that sort of thing?”

“I suppose.” Draco shrugged.

“Then why aren’t muggleborns allowed?”

“Because they haven’t got estates, obviously.”

“Just Finch-Fletchley does….or, well, he will.” The three Malfoys turned to stare at her.

“Who?” Mrs. Malfoy asked at the same time Draco gasped “What?”

“Justin Finch-Fletchley is a muggleborn student in our year.” Hermione explained, ignoring Draco. “His father is a member of Parliament and his grandfather is a earl, I think. Justin’s mother inherited a fortune from her parents and Justin is an only child, so it’s all going to go to him when she dies. Add to that the fact that his father’s older brother has no children and it’s likely that Justin will inherit his grandfather’s title someday. Hence, an estate. My dad says that the Finch-Fletchleys are one of the richest families in the country.”

“But….but he’s a Hufflepuff!” Draco exclaimed, looking horrified.

“So?” Hermione paused to take a bite of her sandwich. It was delicious. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“Absolutely nothing.” Mr. Malfoy declared, throwing down the pamphlet he’d been reading. “Draco, I’ve told you time and time again that you cannot judge a person by the Hogwarts House they belong to. Who, exactly, is teaching these Estate Management classes, Draco?” Draco shrugged.

“I’ve no idea. I heard some of the older Slytherins talking about it, though, and they assured me that the teacher will be of the right sort.” He cast a baleful glance at Hermione, who barely managed to keep from rolling her eyes again. Mrs. Malfoy sighed and Mr. Malfoy frowned at his son.

“Are you certain this is a real class and not just Slytherin parents and alumni coming into give lectures?” Draco gaped at his father. Mr. Malfoy sighed loudly and returned his attention to the pamphlets.

“Draco, while many of the students often refer to those lectures as a ‘class’, they do not count as one of your electives. You’ll need to choose something else.” Mrs. Malfoy said, gently. Hermione resisted the urged to snicker. Gryffindor had ‘classes’ like that—alumni and parents came in once or twice a month to lecture on all sorts of topics—but nobody was every stupid enough to confuse these with the real thing. “Hermione, what electives are you going to take?”

“I can’t decide.” Hermione admitted. “I know I want to take Ancient Runes, Arithmancy, and Care of Magical Creatures, but Divination also looks very interesting and Muggle Studies would be quite useful…”

“Muggle Studies?” Draco snorted. “Why, in Merlin’s name, would you want to take that?”

“You have to have passed your O.W.L. exam in Muggle Studies if you want to work for Gringotts.” Hermione explained.

“Do you want to work for Gringotts?” Mr. Malfoy asked, sounding genuinely curious.

“I don’t know.” Hermione shrugged. “But I don’t want to decide that I do want to work there, but can’t because I haven’t taken the right tests.” 

“Hmmmm. Well, decisions don’t have to be made until the end of July, so there’s time for both of you to think about things.” Mrs. Malfoy brightened. “I’m sure that Professor Vector will have some excellent suggestions and, perhaps, you can both ask some of the older students during the party.”

“Party?” Since Draco didn’t look at all surprised at his mother’s words, Hermione suspected that he knew what she was about to say.

“Yes. Every summer, we throw a party in honor of Draco’s birthday.” 

“All the best people are invited.” Draco sounded very smug. “Last year, the Minister himself came.” Hermione wondered if Draco really believed that the Minister of Magic had come to see him and not his father. She also doubted that Draco had noticed his father’s distinct lack of approval concerning the Minister’s recent actions.

“The guest list is quite extensive.” Mrs. Malfoy nodded. “Our guests are encouraged to bring their children, so there should be plenty of people your age for you to talk to. In fact, since we are using the occasion to formally announce our adoption of you, I suspect this will be our largest turnout yet!” She looked quite pleased at the thought, though Hermione was anything but.

“Uh…Mrs. Malfoy….?” She said, hesitantly.

“Oh, do please call me Narcissa, dear.” There was a pleading tone to the woman’s voice that Hermione found oddly touching. Of the three Malfoys, Mrs….Narcissa…had been, far and away, the most welcoming. She also seemed to be mostly free of the prejudices shared by her husband and son.

“All right….Narcissa.” She said, slowly. “I just….I haven’t been to a lot of parties before. I’m not sure….” She was interrupted by Mr. Malfoy, who threw one of the pamphlets (Entering Hogwarts: Let the Magic Begin!) down onto the table with growl.

“This is ridiculous!” he shouted, gesturing at the pamphlets. 

“Lucius?” Narcissa looked concerned. “What is it?” With a grimace, Mr. Malfoy picked up the pamphlet and began to read aloud.

“While at Hogwarts, you will have the opportunity to meet many young witches and wizards from around the country. Some, like you, have been raised in Muggle homes, but most have spent their entire lives in magical society. Do not be surprised if their manners and customs seem old-fashioned or peculiar. Today’s Wizarding culture and customs are much like those of the Muggle world were in the mid-19th century…. And then there’s this! While you may see certain types of magic referenced in books—rituals, blood magic, family magic, and the like—such things are considered taboo and it is the height of vulgarity to mention them in polite company.’….. I cannot believe this rot!”

“Calm yourself, my dear.” Narcissa said, casting significant glances at Hermione and Draco. “Hermione, is this truly all the information you received before going to Hogwarts? What did the Ministry representative tell you when he or she brought your letter?”

“Well, Professor Burbage said….”

“Charity Burbage? The Muggle Studies teacher?” Mr. Malfoy looked, if possible, even more appalled. 

“Yes.” Hermione nodded. “She visits all the muggleborns who turn eleven on or before the first of September. She told us—me and my parents--all about magic, did a few spells to show us some of the things it can do, and told us a bit about the education system. She explained O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. tests and the impact they can have on my career and then she spoke a bit about Apprenticeships, after my Dad asked her what kind of career I could have. She talked a little bit about the Statute of Secrecy, but said that everything we would need to know was covered in the pamphlets.” She debated telling them what Professor McGonagall had told her about the way Professor Dumbledore had manipulated the system to ensure that certain students came to Hogwarts. In the end, she decided against speaking up. While Dumbledore could hang, as far as she was concerned, she didn’t want Professor Burbage to get into trouble.

“This is…..” Mr. Malfoy seemed lost for words. Finally, he stood up. “Miss Grang…Hermione, do you mind if I borrow these?” He gestured to the pamphlets.

“Go ahead.” Hermione shrugged, completely mystified.

“Thank you. Narcissa, I may not be home for dinner.” Without another word, Mr. Malfoy took the stacks of parchment and strode out of the room. There was a moment of silence as those left in the Morning Room simply started at one another. 

“Mother?” Draco asked, finally. “What was that all about?” Hermione noticed that Narcissa seemed to hesitate for a moment, as if debating whether to speak or not.

“I think…” she said, finally “that your father has just been forced to confront a very ugly truth that flies in the face of everything he’s ever been led to believe. As have I.” She said this, almost as an afterthought.

“I don’t understand….” Hermione said, her brow furrowed. 

“Wizarding society is fundamentally different from Muggle society.” Narcissa began, faltering somewhat. “Not just the outward trappings, like clothes and manners, but we believe very different things. We value things and ideas that the Muggles don’t—or haven’t for hundreds of years—and as we go through our daily lives, we act according to those beliefs and values.”

“Like house elves.” Hermione said, recalling their earlier conversation.

“Precisely!” Narcissa smiled at her. “If someone is born into wizarding society, she knows what house elves are and understands the relationship that exists between elves and humans, even if she does not have one of her own. It is quite possible that she’s never discussed the nature of that relationship with anyone else and she might not be able to articulate it, but it is familiar to her. It will seem….right.”

“Whereas, if you hadn’t explained things to me, I would have gone on thinking that it was slavery.” Hermione murmured.

“But…that’s just stupid.” Draco protested.

“Is it?” His mother arched an eyebrow. “Look at it from the perspective of an outsider. Pretend, for a moment, that you know nothing about the bond between wizards and house elves. Pretend, even, that you’ve only just learned that house elves exist. Now pretend that you are looking through a window at a man with his house elf. Let us say that the man isn’t particularly polite or kind to the elf. He simply orders the elf to do his bidding and the elf obeys without question or complaint. Can you not see that this might be mistaken for slavery?” Draco looked very unhappy. 

“But it’s not.” He protested.

“But what if you didn’t know that?” Narcissa asked. When it was clear that Draco couldn’t wrap his head around this idea, she sighed and went on. “Well, for now, it suffices to say that those of us raised in magical homes assume that everyone enters Hogwarts with the same beliefs and customs—whether they were raised by wizards or by Muggles. Muggleborns are expected to conform to our ways almost immediately. They are criticized or even punished for questioning our customs or not knowing how to behave properly.”

“So?” Draco gave a dismissive wave of his hand. “If they want to be accepted, they should learn how to do things properly, shouldn’t they?” Hermione opened her mouth to rebut, but Narcissa put a hand on her arm.

“That is what your father and I have always thought.” She said, quietly. “We believed that they asked questions or acted differently because they were deliberately refusing to learn our way of doing things. Your father is upset now because he has learned that we might have been wrong. It would seem that there has been an effort to prevent muggleborns from obtaining accurate information and, indeed, to mislead them about magical society.”

“Father…..wrong?” Draco looked as if someone had just told him that Quidditch would be better played on the backs of tortoises. 

“I suspect he’s gone to the Ministry to try and determine if Hermione’s situation is typical.” Narcissa went on. “If it is, then we have made false assumptions about muggleborns and, I’m sorry to say, made some….poor choices based on them.”

“But why does it matter?” Draco asked. “Who cares if the mud…muggleborns aren’t told about the Wizengamot or house elves or stuff like that? They can learn about it….”

“How?” Hermione asked, unable to contain her frustration. “Like I said, there’s nothing about the Wizengamot in the Hogwarts library or in Flourish and Blotts!”

“How should I know how you’re supposed to learn it all?” Draco sneered. “It’s not my problem.”

“But it is your problem, Draco.” Narcissa chided. “You may not have caused it, but you have a responsibility—as do all of us who were raised in the magical world—to come up with a solution. You will begin,” she added, firmly, when it was clear that Draco was about to protest again “by answering Hermione’s original question. Please tell her what the Wizengamot is and what it does.”

“Why…? Oh, all right.” Draco quailed under his mother’s stern glare and turned to Hermione. “The Wizengamot is the oldest form of magical government in the British Isles. Its exact origins are unknown, but it is believed to have been formed by Merlin himself.” He sounded as if he was quoting a textbook and Hermione briefly wondered if this was what Harry and Ron thought she sounded like. She also noticed that Narcissa frowned slightly at the mention of Merlin. 

“Traditionally, the Wizengamot is made up of one hundred members. Seats on the Wizengamot are hereditary.” He smirked. “That keeps out all the undesirables.”

“Draco….” His mother warned.

“What happens if a family dies out?” Hermione asked, determined to ignore the implied insult.

“Another family takes their place.” Draco said, shrugging. “All the families that want a seat submit their names and the sitting members hold an election. That’s how Father got his seat…” If anything, this seemed to make Narcissa even more annoyed than the mention of Merlin..

“Did he tell you that?”

“Well, no.” Draco admitted, looking rather perplexed. “Grandfather said…”

“Abraxas told you…..?” Though her voice hadn’t risen a decibel and she still looked cool and unruffled, Hermione had the impression that she was very, very angry. “It is clear that your grandfather filled your head with utter nonsense. However, that is a matter we will discuss later. For now, please tell Hermione what the Wizengamot actually does and how it differs from what the Ministry does.” For the first time, Draco looked somewhat uncertain.

“The Wizengamot makes laws and punishes criminals.” He said, after a moment’s thought. “The Ministry….uh….also makes laws?” Narcissa closed her eyes, exactly the way Hermione had seen her mother do when she had a headache coming on.

“Clearly, your father and I were wrong to allow your grandfather to oversee your education.” She said, quietly. Draco opened his mouth, but she held up a hand. “No, do not say anything. I do not wish to hear your opinions on how ‘great’ Abraxas Malfoy was.” She opened her eyes and returned her attention to Hermione. “The Ministry is responsible for maintaining the Statute of Secrecy in Great Britain and is authorized to make any laws necessary to fulfill that function.”

“That seems rather….vague.” Hermione frowned.

“It is.” Narcissa nodded. “The Wizengamot is, as Draco said, far older than the Ministry and has always been Wizarding Britain’s primary governing body. In theory, they are responsible for passing legislation that pertains to any aspect of magical life that does not touch on the Statute of Secrecy. However, since the wording in the Ministry Charter is, as you said, vague, the two entities often overlap and overstep their bounds. The situation is not helped by the fact that both the Ministry and the Wizengamot are terribly corrupt.”

“Mother!” Draco gasped. Narcissa shrugged.

“It is only the truth.” She said, then abruptly changed the subject. “Now, this afternoon, we are going to Diagon Alley. Thanks to those idiots at the Ministry, Hermione is in need of an entirely new wardrobe and a host of other things. Draco, you will need new formal robes for the party as well.” Hermione suppressed a groan. She hated shopping for clothes. Apparently, that was one thing she and Draco had in common, for he scowled. “If you both cooperate, there should be time to visit a few of the other shops on the Alley.” Draco brightened up considerably.

“We’ll go to Quality Quidditch Supplies. I want a new broom!” Hermione’s jaw dropped. By no means was she a Quidditch enthusiast, but she was best friends with two boys who were and had been forced to sit through more than one tedious conversation about broomsticks. She had long since worked out that each of the Nimbus 2001s Draco’s father had purchased for the Slytherin team cost roughly the same amount as what a new car would cost in the Muggle world. That Draco wanted another one already was…..well, it was inconceivable to her.

“Absolutely not!” Narcissa snapped. “You may look around the Quidditch store, if you like, but I am not buying you a new broom! If we complete our shipping in a reasonable amount of time, I will give you each five Galleons to spend however you like.”

“Five Galleons?” Draco looked offended. “That won’t buy anything!” Hermione shook her head in disbelief. She’d read the pamphlet on wizard money that her father had purchased from Gringotts and, at the current exchange rate, five Galleons was roughly equivalent to thirty five pounds. Goods and services had roughly the same value in both worlds, so five Galleons would buy her a couple of books, at least. 

“Draco, this is not up for discussion.” Narcissa folded her napkin and placed it on the table. “If you can demonstrate that you can act properly in public, the way I know you have been taught to do—you will get five Galleons. If you cannot, you will get nothing. Now go upstairs and fetch your cloak. Do not dawdle, please. I don’t want to be late for our appointment”

“Appointment?” Draco looked suspicious. “What appointment? Where is it?”

“Madame Laurette’s.” Hermione was startled by Draco’s gasp of surprise.

“I’m sorry, but who is Madame Laurette?” Hermione asked.

“Madame Laurette is the finest designer of robes in Wizarding Britain.” Narcissa glowed with pride. “She has a shop on Diagon Alley that anyone can visit but, on occasion, she can be persuaded to custom make robes for her most preferred customers. I’ve had my name on her waiting list for nearly two years and I’m absolutely thrilled she’s agreed to personally craft formal robes for the three of us to wear to the party.” 

“She….she’s seeing to us herself?” Draco gaped. “Not one of her assistants?”

“That’s right.” Narcissa wore a smile of smug satisfaction before turning serious again. “Draco, you will obey all instructions given to you by myself or Madame without argument or complaint and you will conduct yourself as a properly brought up young wizard, is that understand?”

“Yes, mother.” Draco looked a bit sheepish.

“Good. Now go get your cloak.”

**  
The Ministry of Magic

After leaving the Morning Room, Lucius paused only long enough to allow his personal house-elf, Jinx, to hand him his cloak before throwing a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace and travelling to the Ministry. It wasn’t until he was standing in the Atrium that he realized that he hadn’t a clue as to what to do next. He knew that this travesty was the responsibility of the Muggle Liaison’s office, but he had no idea who the current Muggle Liaison was or where that person’s office was to be found. He was just considering going to Fudge’s office and charming the information out of the Minister’s secretary when he saw a much more reliable source of information leaving the Ministry’s cafeteria.

“Crouch.” Lucius easily fell into step with the other man and ignored his scowl. “May I have a moment of your time?”

“What do you want, Malfoy?” Crouch stopped so abruptly that Lucius actually took a few steps before realizing the other man was no longer beside him.

“I’m afraid that I am not as familiar with current Ministry personnel as I ought to be. I was hoping you could direct me to the current Muggle Liaison.” Lucius said, doing his best not to sneer at the man, whose mouth had fallen open with shock. Crouch recovered quickly and his expression soon turned to one of suspicion.

“Why would you possibly want to know that?” he asked. Lucius briefly considered telling the man that it was none of his damn business, but he knew Crouch could be a valuable ally—in this, at least, if in nothing else. 

“Have you read today’s Prophet?” He asked. Crouch nodded, warily. “While the reporter took some…er…dramatic license when discussing the events at King’s Cross yesterday, she was correct in her assertion that my wife and I have adopted a muggleborn child.”

“I see.” Crouch looked as though he wasn’t sure what to make of this statement.

“I have just discovered that Hermione’s introduction to the magical world was…irregular.”

“Irregular?” Crouch arched an eyebrow, finally sounding interested. “In what way?”

“For a start, she was contacted by a teacher from Hogwarts, rather than someone from the Muggle Liaison office. That professor did not tell her about the Ministry’s muggleborn orientation program, nor was she directed to any resources where she could learn more about the magical world prior to beginning her education. In fact….” Lucius held out the pamphlets “this is the sum total of information she received about the magical world before arriving at Hogwarts and some of it is….woefully inaccurate. I am also led to believe that all the muggleborns in Hermione’s year received the same shoddy treatment.” He did not have to fake his grimace of distaste.

“This is…..this is…..” In Lucius’ experience, Bartemius Crouch was not the type to sputter, but the pamphlets seemed to have removed his capacity for coherent speech. “What is this?”

“I don’t know.” Lucius shrugged. “That is why I want to speak to the Muggle Liaison. This sort of thing is his responsibility, is it not?”

“It is.” Crouch admitted. He paused a moment, then sighed. “There is no current Muggle Liaison. Hasn’t been one since old Doge retired in ’82.”

“Doge? Elphias Doge?” 

“Yes.” Crouch nodded. “He retired just after Minister Fudge was elected.”

“I see. And how long did Master Doge serve in that capacity?” Crouch had to think a moment before answering.

“He became the official Liaison in ’57, after Caracticus Bagman got himself killed during that stupid broom race, but even when Bagman was the Liaison….well, let’s just say that Ludo takes after his father.” Lucius nodded in understanding.

“So, Doge was effectively in charge for most of Bagman’s tenure as Liaison?” He said, wanting to be sure he had his facts straight. Crouch nodded.

“Whether or not he had the title, Elphias Doge was the Muggle Liaison from the early 1930s until his retirement.”

“Do you know why Doge was never replaced?” Crouch shook his head, looking rather bewildered. Lucius considered asking more pointed questions, but decided against it. Crouch was not a stupid man and could certainly draw the correct conclusions without any further prompting. “Thank you for your time.” He turned to walk away, but Crouch thrust the pamphlets towards him.

“Don’t you want these back?”

“Why?” Lucius feigned surprise. “As I said, much of the information is woefully inaccurate. Narcissa and I intend to see that Hermione is properly educated.” His mission accomplished, Lucius made his way to the Apparition point, which was in a discreet alcove near the lifts. For security reasons, only senior Ministry employees and Wizengamot members were permitted to Apparate directly in and out of the Ministry. Lucius usually didn’t bother, since he could not Apparate directly into the Manor, but he wasn’t going back to the Manor….not yet. He had a great deal of thinking to do and wanted some privacy in which to do it. 

A few minutes later, he was settled into one of the comfortable armchairs that sat before the fireplace in a private room at The Dragon’s Den. Located on Whisper Lane, just off Diagon Alley, the Dragon’s Den was an establishment that catered to affluent witches and wizards looking for excellent service tendered with the utmost professionalism and discretion. The Dragon’s Den was where the elite of Britain’s magical world went to engage in illicit romantic rendezvous with the person—or magical being—of their choosing. The payment of an exorbitant monthly fee bought one access to the club’s private rooms any time one wished to make use of them. For even more money, one could have the room customized to one’s exacting specifications, no matter how eccentric or perverted one’s tastes were. 

The Den was also where one held meetings that one did not want one’s family or the Ministry to know about. While Lucius had, on occasion, hosted such meetings, more often not, he spent his time in the Den alone. As a young man, he’d come to realize that it was one of the few places where he could escape from his father’s domination and, though Abraxas was no longer among the living, he still occasionally found himself needing a quiet place outside of the Manor to sit and think.

As he stared into the flames, Lucius turned over all the facts, trying to make sense of the picture that was starting to emerge. Hermione had deliberately been given misinformation about the wizarding world and, from what she’d said, it sounded as if the same could be said for most, if not all, of the muggleborns currently at Hogwarts. No one at the Ministry had been overseeing the Orientation program since Doge’s retirement. This was almost certainly not an accident or an oversight. Elphias Doge was one of Albus Dumbledore’s oldest friends and most vocal supporters. He was also a weak-willed nincompoop who had never had an original thought wander across his mind and didn’t seem to be capable of dressing himself unless someone gave him explicit instructions to do so. He held a Wizengamot seat and had voted with Dumbledore every single time, even when the old fool had contradicted himself. Lucius did not like the conclusions he was reaching.

Lucius was honest enough with himself to admit that a great deal of the Pure-blood ideology he’d always believed was focused on the idea that muggleborns had no respect for wizarding history or culture. However, his arguments for his own superiority were based on the premise that muggleborns had access to information about both and had chosen to ignore them. He’d always resented the way they seemed to want to push aside values and traditions they considered “old-fashioned” in favor of their own “new” ideas, without regard for the fact that they were steadily chipping away at the foundation of a culture that had existed on the British Isles for over a thousand years. He’d blamed them for the poor economy, Britain’s loss of prestige in the wider magical world, and the falling standards of scholarship. Worst of all, he’d blamed them for the corruption of Britain’s magic. It had never occurred to him that they weren’t responsible for all of society’s ills.

Now, however, he had to face a harsh truth. He was wrong. They all were. The muggleborns hadn’t ignored wizarding culture, they simply hadn’t known it existed. But why hadn’t they been told? Why had someone deliberately lied to them? What did Dumbledore have to gain? For, there was no doubt in Lucius Malfoy’s mind that, should one dig down to the root of the problem, one would find Albus Dumbledore sitting there in one of his ridiculous squashy chairs, nattering on about lemon drops. 

Whether directly or indirectly, Albus Dumbledore had controlled the means by which muggleborn witches and wizards were introduced to the magical world for at least the last fifty years. Apparently, he’d either deliberately set out to mislead them or he’d blatantly ignored others’ attempts to do so. With Doge acting as the Muggle Liaison, Lucius had trouble believing that the latter scenario was possible. 

Sighing, he rubbed his forehead in a vain attempt to stem the headache he felt coming on. Drawing in a deep breath, he tried to order his thoughts. There was at least one generation of muggleborns—most likely two or three—who were absolutely clueless about the wizarding world. They needed to be educated as soon as possible, before the damage to the Magic became irreparable and no new students could be allowed to be infected with that nonsense. The problem was that nobody would listen to him; his father’s vindictiveness and his own stupidity made sure of that. Dumbledore was too well entrenched in the Wizengamot and the social fabric to be dislodged easily, especially by a former Death Eater. 

For now, the problem would have to be handed off to others. Lucius briefly considered whether he should bring the situation to Amelia Bones’ attention, but decided that it was best if the effort was spearheaded by Barty Crouch. He loathed the man but his reputation for upholding the laws of the land—at any cost—was set in stone. To go to Amelia with this, on top of everything else, would risk pushing the boundaries of their tentative alliance far past the breaking point. No, far better to leave the matter in Crouch’s capable hands. Change would come; perhaps not as quickly as Lucius would like, but it would come.

**  
Malfoy Manor

With relief, Narcissa accepted the headache potion Mipsy handed her and downed it one swallow. Closing her eyes, she relaxed into the depths of the armchair and waited for the draught to take effect. After only a few minutes, the pain dissipated and she felt ready to face the world again. She opened her eyes and watched Mipsy as the elf unpacked one of the boxes from Madam Laurette’s shop. Several identical boxes sat on top of the large pile of purchases Narcissa had made for Hermione that afternoon. “Mipsy, be a dear and lay out several of Miss Hermione’s new outfits—different levels of formality, please. I’m going to begin her training by discussing different kinds of robes and I’d like to have some examples at hand.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Narcissa was amused to see the thought the elf put into choosing which outfits were to represent all the others.

“Tori! Topsy!” Both the elves appeared, looking as though they were about to start bouncing with excitement.

“Tori, please tell Miss Hermione I would like to speak with her and show her the way here. When you’ve done that, please fetch us a light tea for two.” 

“Yes, Mistress.” 

“Topsy, please fetch that wretched broom Master Draco got and bring it to me. If he attempts to hide or damage the broom, tries to punish you, or is in any other way uncooperative, you are to tell me. If he refuses to give the broom to you, you may take it with magic.”

“Yes, Mistress.”

Once they were gone, Narcissa sat back and attempted to collect her thoughts. The trip to Diagon Alley had, to say the least, been an eye-opener. The first shock had come when Madame Laurette had greeted them in French and Hermione had responded in kind. Madame had been absolutely delighted to discover that Hermione spoke her language. Despite the fact that Hermione was hardly fluent, the two managed to hold a brief, halting conversation in French and Madame had claimed that hearing her native tongue had inspired her to new heights of creativity. Once everyone had started speaking English again, the appointment had proceeded uneventfully until Hermione had innocently asked Madame why her shop was in London and not in Paris. 

“Oh, ma cherie, it is because French witches are exceptionally stupid. They think that, just because my mother was a Veela, that they should not have to pay what my creations are worth.” Madame said this with a rueful chuckle and then spent the next half hour patiently explaining what Veela were and describing their history and culture while holding countless bolts of fabric up to see how they looked with Hermione’s coloring, pinning sample robes to the right length and selecting just the right trim. Narcissa hadn’t heard a word of what was said.

Madame Laurette was half-Veela. Suddenly, both her refusal to do custom work for the Malfoys, despite Narcissa’s best efforts, and her sudden change of heart made sense. As she sat there watching Hermione effortlessly charm a woman who was notorious for being immune to such things, Narcissa recalled the ways in which she and Lucius had described their own reputations. Given what she now knew, she could easily understand why Madame Laurette had ignored her entreaties until now. Narcissa had hoped that the adoption would paint her family in a new light, but she hadn’t expected the results to come so quickly or to be so tangible.

Sadly, the experience had been somewhat marred by Draco’s inability to think before speaking and, because of his rudeness, Madame had refused to make robes for him, though she had made several beautiful garments for Hermione and a stunning gown for Narcissa. So, after a stop at Madam Malkin’s, where Hermione had been measured, Narcissa had sent her new daughter off with five Galleons in her pocket to wander the Alley while she’d dragged her son to Twifitt and Tattings. Draco had been most put out by the whole experience and seemed to be incapable of accepting that he was at fault.

In retrospect, it had not been a wise decision to permit Draco to wander the Alley unsupervised in that frame of mind, even if he hadn’t been given any pocket money. While Narcissa had been in Madam Malkin’s, selecting outfits for Hermione and Sperwicket’s purchasing toiletries and other necessities, he had gone to Quality Quidditch Supplies and had, apparently, threatened the proprietor with Lucius’ wrath in order to force the man to sell him a broom and charge the Malfoy vault. When she learned what he’d done, Narcissa had attempted to return the broom, only to discover that Draco had ordered several custom features, including a blood-bound security charm which meant that the broom would only ever fly for Draco. He was currently confined to his rooms, but Narcissa knew that, if Draco was ever to learn from this experience, some more serious punishment would have to be meted out. With a sigh, she shook her head and tried to focus on the task at hand. She would have to talk to Lucius about it when he got home but, for now, there was nothing else she could do. 

There was a soft knock at the door and Narcissa couldn’t help but smile as she bade Hermione enter. She was very much looking forward to this. 

“Tori said you wanted to see me?” As Hermione hovered, uncertainly, in the doorway Narcissa’s heart went out to the girl—she’d been forced to bear witness to a dreadful scene in Quality Quidditch Supplies and then another one when they’d returned to the Manor. Narcissa felt her jaw clench as she remembered some of the things Draco had said and she had to make an effort to speak in a calm and reassuring tone.

“Yes, come in, dear, and have a seat. I thought we could have a chat over some tea, if you’re willing.”

“All right.” Hermione walked slowly across the room and sank into the chair across the table from Narcissa. Though she still looked apprehensive, there was a spark of curiosity in her eyes as she looked at her surroundings. 

“This is my sitting room.” Narcissa said, answering the unspoken question. “Each member of the family has a suite of rooms like yours. We also have several suites for guests.” Hermione’s eyes were round and she looked a bit overawed. “I apologize for not giving you a proper tour of the house yet. It’s a bit late to do it this afternoon, but we can do that tomorrow, if you like. Right now, I want to talk about your education….” She broke off as Topsy popped into the room, holding a broom. He looked distinctly unhappy.

“Mistress is wanting Master Draco’s broom?” He said, a bit fearfully.

“Yes.” Narcissa pointed to a corner. “Put it over there, please. I take it Draco did not wish to cooperate?” Topsy shook his head, sadly.

“No, Mistress. Topsy is telling Master Draco that you is giving him orders to fetch the broom, but he is saying that your orders don’t matter because you is a Black and he is a Malfoy. Young Master is casting spells at Topsy! Topsy is having to use magic to get the broom without hurting the young Master.” 

“Spells….? Oh dear.” Narcissa sighed. “Very well. Mipsy!”

“Yes, Mistress?”

“Please tell all the elves that, until Master Lucius or I say otherwise, Master Draco is to be confined to his rooms. No elf is to respond to his summons, nor are they to obey his orders. Is that understood?”

“Yes, Mistress!” Both elves looked at her with wide eyes. 

“Good. Mipsy, I will need you to place a ward on Draco’s rooms to prevent him from casting spells in there. Once that is done and Tori brings us our tea, I will not be needing your services for a while, so you may both return to your regular chores.”

“Yes, Mistress.” Tori appeared with the tea tray just as the others vanished. Once things were arranged to the elf’s satisfaction, she too, disappeared and Narcissa and Hermione were alone at last. The silence grew heavy and Narcissa busied herself with pouring out the tea as she considered how to steer the conversation back in the direction she wanted it to go.

“Draco was casting spells?” Hermione looked stunned and her voice had gotten rather loud and shrill. “Won’t he get in trouble with the Ministry of Magic?” Narcissa sighed, knowing that she had to be honest, but that Hermione wasn’t going to like what she had to say.

“I’m afraid not. Malfoy Manor is surrounded by wards, so the Ministry is unable to detect magic use within the house or grounds. The same is true for the homes of many wizarding families. Since the Ministry cannot detect underage magic here or in other warded spaces, it is up to us—and to the parents or guardians of other underage witches and wizards—to ensure that the laws are obeyed. As I said before, it can be quite dangerous for a child to do magic unsupervised and the punishments are quite harsh for anyone caught allowing their child to do magic at home before their seventeenth birthday. Lucius and I will have to confiscate Draco’s wand this evening. I trust that we will not need to confiscate yours?”

“No.” Hermione sighed. “Though it would be nice to be able to practice the spells I didn’t get a chance to work on this year. Why not ask the elves to do it?”

“Elves are not legally permitted to carry wands under any circumstances.” Narcissa explained, glad that Hermione seemed to accept that she had not been bound to a different set of rules because she was Muggleborn. “And don’t worry—you will have plenty of opportunity to do practical work with your tutor. Special permits can be obtained for those working with an accredited tutor.” There was another awkward pause, before Hermione cleared her throat and spoke again. 

“You wanted to speak to me about my education? Is this about the classes I’ll be taking next year, because I would value any advice…”

“No, no.” Narcissa smiled, holding up her hand to halt the flow of words. “While I will be happy to speak with you about your Hogwarts classes, I am referring to a different aspect of your education—one that has been sadly neglected.”

“You mean all the things that the Ministry should have told me before I started Hogwarts, don’t you?” Hermione said, frowning. “About wizarding government and so on?”

“That’s part of it, yes, but only a small part.” Narcissa paused, not entirely sure how to proceed. The idea had seemed so simple and right to her, and she had been confident that Hermione would see the wisdom in her plan. Now that she had arrived at the pivotal moment, Narcissa was worried. She wasn’t used to doubting herself in this manner and she found that she didn’t like it at all. On the one hand, she needed to be completely honest, but on the other hand, she desperately wanted Hermione to agree to her plan. While these were not mutually exclusive goals, both could only be achieved if she chose her words carefully. “First, I would like to tell you a bit about myself so that you can better understand what I am asking of you.”

“All right.” Hermione looked rather puzzled, but appeared to be listening closely.

“Before I married Lucius, I was Narcissa Black, Daughter of the Ancient and Most Noble House of Black.” Narcissa was not surprised to see that Hermione’s expression showed no sign of recognition of comprehension, but remained politely interested. “Despite what many witches and wizards think—and I am referring to those raised in the magical world as well as muggleborns—that title is not just some piece of pretentious frippery dreamed up by one of my ancestors to make himself feel more important. The title my family holds has a very specific meaning and history, which I will be happy to explain to you later, if you wish. For now, it is only important for you to know that the Blacks are one of the First Families and that this status brings with it certain traditions, privileges, and responsibilities that are still honored today.”

“Really?” Hermione absently took a bite out of a biscuit as she leaned forward, eagerly. “Like what?”

“Well, among many other things, we are expected to be leaders in wizarding society—political, social, and intellectual leaders. The Ministry was not created until after the Statute of Secrecy was enacted—before that, the First Families had an obligation to look after the witches and wizards living in the British Isles.”

“So, your family is kind of like magical nobility.” Hermione said, thoughtfully.

“We were, yes.” Narcissa nodded. 

“Were?”

“The First Families are expected to swear certain oaths that are magically binding. These oaths prevent us from abusing the power and authority we’ve been given and, by the same token, we do not have the right to use that power and authority unless the oaths have been sworn. My uncle Orion became Head of House Black in 1962. At that time, he was already a devout follower of Voldemort and was a member of his inner circle. Swearing the oaths I am speaking of would have meant abandoning Voldemort, so he refused. He died in 1981 and the current Head of House is…unavailable to swear the oaths that would restore the Black family to its full glory. Though this is not public knowledge, the Black family has been exercising rights and privileges to which it is not entitled for some time now. However, we are straying from my original point. As a Daughter of House Black, I was taught everything that a girl from a traditional family was expected to know. That’s what I’d like to teach you.”

“By ‘traditional’, you mean pure-blood, don’t you?” Hermione made a grimace of distaste.

“Not at all. Those who espouse the so-called ‘Pure-blood’ ideology are no more in line with proper wizarding tradition than you are. The fools cling to some of the outward trappings, it’s true, but they’ve forgotten—or chosen to ignore—the foundations those trappings are supposed to adorn.” Seeing the wide-eyed expression of shock on Hermione’s face, Narcissa realized that some of her long-suppressed anger must have bled through into her words. She took a sip of tea to give herself time to calm down before continuing. “What I want to do is pass on the knowledge of the proper traditions that were taught to me when I was your age. I do not mean to suggest that these are any better or worse than those you will find in Muggle society—or in any other wizarding society, for that matter—but they are important for you to know if you wish to thrive in this society. What I can teach you will help you to understand and appreciate the magical world much better than you do now.” Hermione nodded in understanding. Narcissa watched as the girl took another biscuit and nibbled on it, clearly lost in thought.

“Why me?” Hermione asked, finally. Narcissa sucked in a breath. “You didn’t have to adopt me. You could have let those men bind my magic and wipe my memories. Oh, I know what Mr. Malfoy said about the Ministry Charter, but even if he is right about that and really cares, you could have just told someone else about my situation. Why did you decide to adopt me yourselves??” This was it. Some nameless instinct told Narcissa that her next words were, perhaps, the most important ones she would ever speak in her life. Somehow, she knew that her answer to Hermione’s question would have ramifications stretching far beyond today. With a growing sense of dread, she realized that nothing short of total honesty would be acceptable to the girl.

“There are three reasons.” She said, slowly. Suddenly nervous, she licked her lips before realizing what she was doing. “I will be honest with you, Hermione. All those reasons are quite selfish. The first is that, by adopting you, we simultaneously gained leverage over Albus Dumbledore and removed some of his leverage over us.” To her surprise, Hermione didn’t look at all shocked or appalled at the idea that Albus Dumbledore might be capable of behaving in anything less than a highly honorable fashion. 

“Because of the diary?”

“Yes.” Narcissa nodded. “There is far more to that story than what either you or Mr. Potter were told. However, it is not my story to tell – if you wish to know what really happened, you will need to speak to Lucius about that.” The look on Hermione’s face made it clear that she had no intention of doing that any time soon. “The second reason we chose to adopt you ourselves is that, by doing so and making you a part of our family, I…we hope to undo some of the damage that was done to the reputations of House Black and House Malfoy by certain individuals. The third reason….” Narcissa paused, unsure of what to say next.

One the one hand, she needed to be completely honest and that meant revealing details about herself that she would prefer to keep private. On the other hand, Hermione wasn’t stupid and would recognize any attempts at emotional manipulation as exactly what they were meant to be. Narcissa felt as though she and Hermione were standing on a knife’s edge and they were about to fall off—if they went one way, they would be on the road to building a true relationship based on mutual trust and respect. If they fell the other way, Narcissa knew, more surely than she knew her own name, that such a relationship would be impossible. She took a deep breath.

“The third reason is that I desperately wanted a daughter. Abraxas Malfoy insisted that the first child I gave Lucius be a boy, so, shortly after we married, he cast a spell on me to ensure that he would obtain the outcome he desired.”

“There are spells that can do that?” Hermione gasped, looking deeply disturbed.

“There are.” Narcissa nodded, sipping her tea. “However, those spells are highly complex and dangerous, not to mention illegal.”

“Why….why did he want a boy so badly?” Hermione asked. Narcissa scowled.

“He wanted a grandson to prove his worth and loyalty to the Dark Lord. Abraxas had no use for women, you see, and all of his contemporaries had sons and grandsons they gave into the Dark Lord’s service. He was afraid that if I had a girl, the Dark Lord would blame him and he would lose status in the Inner Circle.” Hermione made a rather rude noise of disgust. Though Narcissa would have preferred she express it in a more ladylike manner, she agreed wholeheartedly with the sentiment. “Anyway, Abraxas Malfoy was a powerful wizard, but not a very intelligent one and he did not bother to determine whether I was pregnant before he cast the spell. Since I was and was already carrying a boy, the magic of the spell was unable to do what Abraxas demanded of it. It…well, I suppose the best way to put it is to say that it became warped. While the spell didn’t hurt Draco, it caused a great deal of damage to my reproductive system. After Draco was born, I was unable to have any more children. In pursuing his dream, Abraxas Malfoy unwittingly destroyed mine. So, you see, when I discovered the opportunity to gain a daughter….” Narcissa shrugged “I took it. Does that answer your question?”

For a moment, Hermione just gaped at her and Narcissa amused herself by watching the play of emotions on the girl’s face. Outrage and pity were there in equal measure, but there was also a deep sadness that Narcissa couldn’t quite account for. Hermione was never going to be able to hide her feelings behind a mask, the way Narcissa so often did, but she could be trained to control and direct her responses in a way that was every bit as effective. 

“Yes.” Hermione spoke slowly, as if her words were treading over unfamiliar territory. “It does. Thank you for being so honest with me and….I’m sorry.” Narcissa inclined her head to acknowledge the statement, but decided that it was time to shift the conversation back towards her original purpose.

“Would you like to learn what I can teach you?” The look of eagerness that flashed across Hermine’s face nearly made Narcissa laugh.

“Oh, yes please! But….where do we even start?” Narcissa beamed. 

“I thought we could start with the things we bought this afternoon…..”

**

June 21

The Ministry of Magic

There were many people who said that the Sorting Hat made a mistake when it put Bartemius Crouch in Ravenclaw. No one doubted that he was intelligent, but many said that he had more ambition than any ten Slytherins—though they never said this to his face, of course. If they had, they would have been surprised to discover that Bartemius agreed with them whole-heartedly. He had, however, come to the conclusion that the Hat had put him in Ravenclaw because his ambition was usually tempered with healthy doses of realism and logic. Usually. He had only ever let his ambition rule him once and it had nearly cost him everything. Now, as he sat in the small conference room he usually used for meetings with his staff or with representatives from foreign Ministries, he was determined not to allow history to repeat itself.

After the fall of Voldemort, Bartemius had seen his opportunity to ascend to the highest political office in Magical Britain. Thanks to his sister, a healer at Saint Mungo’s, he had learned of Millicent Bagnold’s poor health and impending retirement, and had resolved to use the Death Eater trials to cement his public image as a pillar of order and justice. His mistake was, he now realized, that he had placed more emphasis on the image of justice than on its substance. As Head of the DMLE, he focused on the Aurors and their efforts to capture Death Eaters, but had paid almost no attention to what was happening in the department’s legal division. The Chief Prosecutor at the time was Nerissa Rowle, and though she was not a marked Death Eater herself, she was strongly sympathetic to Voldemort’s views. She was also not above taking bribes from those who wished to keep themselves out of Azkaban.

While Bartemius had been busy presiding over all the Death Eater trials, ensuring that his name was featured prominently in the Daily Prophet’s coverage, Nerissa Rowle had quietly set about dismissing a number of airtight cases on the grounds that the accused had been acting under the IMperius curse. There were some who could not hide behind that excuse—Abraxas Malfoy, for example—but most of the younger Death Eaters had walked free without so much as a preliminary interrogation. Even Abraxas had managed to strike a deal that enabled him to stay out of Azkaban, though he had been confined to his estate for the rest of his life. Bartemius had been vaguely aware the number of arrests exceeded the number of trials, but he hadn’t known just how many Nerissa was releasing, nor how flimsy her justification for doing so really was. 

Among those Nerissa released were Rodolphus and Bellatrix LeStrange. Three weeks to the day after they walked out of the Ministry’s holding cells, they—along with Rodolphus’ brother, Rabastan, and Bartemius’ own son—attacked the Longbottoms. The Prophet couldn’t decide which story was more scandalous—the corruption within the Ministry or the fact that the only child of one of Wizarding Britain’s most prominent citizens was a Death Eater. Bartemius still considered himself fortunate to have retained any sort of position at the Ministry after tht debacle.

Now, over ten years later, he could admit (if only to himself) that, even if his son had not been caught with the LeStaranges, his failure to notice the corruption within his own department would have put an end to his ambitions. At the time, however, he’d laid all the blame for his downfall at young Barty’s feet, That was the real reason he’d agreed to go along with his wife’s scheme to break the boy out of Azkaban—Bartemius had wanted to administer the boy’s punishment personally.

But that was then and this was now. Camille was long dead and, for the most part, people had learned to forgive and forget. After all, his professional sin had been that of neglect and while that was certainly regrettable, it wasn’t criminal. While some tactless fool like Ludo Bagman would occasionally mention his past mistakes, most people seemed to have moved on. Even Augusta Longbottom had stopped glaring at him whenever they encountered each other in the Wizengamot. 

As his guests settled into their seats and an elf distributed tea, Bartemius had to work to keep himself from smiling with triumph. Thanks to Lucius Malfoy, of all people, he had a chance to capture the prize that he’d once thought lost forever. This time, he was determined to do things right. It would be a long, slow process, but Bartemius had learned the value of patience and he was a master of the art of long-term planning. This meeting was the first step on the journey that would see him in the Minister’s seat.

“All right, Barty, what’s so urgent it couldn’t wait until the monthly meeting?” Bartemius made no effort to hide his irritation with the Minister of Magic. There were only two people in the Ministry crass enough to use that name to his face and, unlike Ludo Bagman, Cornelius Fudge had met Bartemius’ son on more than one occasion. Though it appeared that Mafalda Hopkirk, Head of the Ministry’s Department of Education, missed the Minister’s social gaffe, Amelia Bones did not. Bartemius was somewhat gratified to see her jaw tighten slightly.

“First, I’d like to thank all of you for taking the time to meet with me.” he began. “I also feel that I should apologize to you Amelia, since I may have overstepped my bounds. However, when you hear what I have to say, I think you will understand why I wanted to wait before bringing these matters to your attention.” Amelia Bones was the only person in the room whose opinion Bartemius really cared about. Cornelius Fudge was a corrupt blowhard and Mafalda Hopkirk, though inoffensive enough, had no power or status to speak of.

“Go on.” Amelia’s expression was aggressively neutral, but Bartemius took that as a good sign.

“I recently had two conversations—one with Lucius Malfoy and one with Brendan Cleary from the Irish Ministry of Magic. Both men brought problems to my attention that I believe must be addressed as soon as possible.”

“Excuse me, Mr. Crouch, but why, exactly, am I here?” Mafalda asked. “I can’t imagine what either Mr. Malfoy or Mr. Cleary could have to say that would concern my department.”

“As a matter of fact,” Bartemius replied, smoothly “one of the issues we need to discuss relates directly to the education of our children, specifically those who are born and raised in non-magical homes. Here.” He quickly distributed the pamphlets Malfoy had given him. Mafalda and Amelia both began reading while Fudge merely used his to fan his face. “I received these from Mr. Malfoy two days ago. He got them from his new ward, Hermione….”

“Her again!” Cornelius huffed in irritation. “Dolores is right…that girl is far more trouble than she’s worth…”

“Minister!” Amelia snapped. Seeing the appalled expression on Mafalda’s face, Fudge immediately began to backpedal.

“Well…what I meant to say is….well….”

“Go on, Bartemius.” Amelia said, loudly. Crouch nodded his thanks, then continued.

“To be brief, those pamphlets are all the information Miss Granger…excuse me, Miss Malfoy received upon entering the Wizarding world and, as you will see, much of that information is outdated or incorrect. Miss Malfoy did not attend a Muggleborn Orientation class, nor was one offered to her. She received one visit from a Hogwarts professor who did not tell her about any of the other available options for magical education, and none of the Ministry’s resources were made available to her.” Seeing that Fudge was about to open his mouth again (probably to stick the other foot in), Crouch held up a hand. “Minister, I’ve done some research of my own and what I’ve found is, quite frankly, deeply disturbing.”

“What do you mean?” Bartemius saw that Amelia had pulled out a notepad and self-inking quill. 

“The Muggle Liaison Office has the responsibility for introducing muggleborns to the magical world. As we all know, there hasn’t been a Muggle Liaison since 1982, but there is still a fully staffed Muggle Liaison Office. I assumed—as, I believe, did everyone else—that they were doing their jobs, despite the lack of leadership. Yesterday, I learned that the MLO delegated the responsibilities of making first contact with muggleborn children and facilitating their transition into the magical world to Britain’s magical schools some time in the late 1940s—without direction or approval from either the Ministry or the Wizengamot. Then, in 1954, Hogwarts assumed sole responsibility for these tasks. I have spoken to several Ministry employees who were born and raised in on-magical homes and my sister, who graduated Hogwarts in 1962, spoke with a former roommate of hers—also a Muggleborn. Their introduction to the magical world was quite similar to Miss Malfoy’s.”

“So?” Fudge looked confused, but both Amelia and Mafalda looked horrified.

“Are you saying that there hasn’t been a Muggleborn Orientation class in nearly forty years?” Amelia’s eyes were so wide, her monocle was in danger of falling out.

“At least.” Bartemius nodded. “I am waiting to hear back from the other schools to see if they can shed any light on this situation. I’m also still trying to track down Elphias Doge to see if he can offer any explanations. However, I suspect that, even before the MLO abrogated their responsibility, the Orientation class….wasn’t all it should have been. I recall being rather…frustrated with some of the Muggleborn students in my own year and I started Hogwarts in 1945.”

“All those children…” Mafalda said, looking as though she was going to faint.

“I’m sorry, but I really don’t see what the problem is here.” Fudge whined.

“The problem, Minister, is that, on average, 40 Muggleborn children turn eleven every year.” Bartemius explained, not bothering to hide his impatience. “That number has been fairly consistent for the past century These children are being thrust into our world with nothing more than a few pamphlets for guidance!” 

“It’s no wonder they don’t know anything about our history or custom or….anything!” Amelia Bones was nearly incoherent with anger. “They arrive at Hogwarts and are looked down on or even shunned for not knowing the simplest things and, when they graduate, they have difficulty finding employment in our world. Many of them either move out of the country or go back to the Muggle world.”

“She’s right.” Bartemius nodded. “The tax laws favoring the old families aren’t helping the situation. From what I can tell, we lose nearly seventy percent of the Muggleborns within five years of their Hogwarts graduation. That has a direct impact on the Ministry’s revenues.” Cornelius rocked back in his chair as if someone had slapped him. 

“Forty years…” Mafalda moaned. “Do you realize what this means?”

“It means that the war could have been prevented.” Bartemius said, his face contorted into an appropriately grim expression.

“It also means that we’re in serious violation of the Ministry Charter…again.” Amelia pointed out. Crouch felt his stomach turn. He hadn’t even thought of that. “How the hell did this happen?”

“As I said, I’m waiting to hear back from the other schools, but from what I’ve learned so far, I think it’s safe to say that Albus Dumbledore has a hand in this.” Bartemius replied. “Miss Malfoy and others have stated that the library at Hogwarts is bereft of any of the standard introductory texts that Muggleborns are supposed to have access to. What is more, I talked to Charity Burbage this morning. She is the Professor of Muggle Studies at Hogwarts and has held that position for the past two years. When she was hired, she was informed that one of her duties would be to visit all the Muggleborn students in Britain every year. Apparently, Dumbledore was very…specific about what she could and could not tell them. She also told me that he has a habit of cherry picking certain students and insisting that they only be told about Hogwarts.” Crouch could see the knut drop for Mafalda, then Amelia.

“Hermione….” Amelia breathed. Crouch nodded.

“Exactly. That whole mess can be laid at Dumbledore’s feet from start to finish.” From his pocket, Bartemius withdrew a scroll and held it out to Amelia. “Here is a transcript of my conversation with Professor Burbage. As I said, I’m sorry if I’ve overstepped my bounds, but I wanted to ascertain that there was a real problem before I said anything. For all I knew, Malfoy could have been lying or only telling me the facts that suited his agenda.”

“Lucius would never…” Fudge spluttered. Bartemius ignored him.

“The fact is that we’re in a world of trouble thanks, at least in part, to Albus Dumbledore and that brings me to the second reason I wanted to meet with you.” He said. “Brendan Cleary is, as you may know, Ireland’s representative to the I.C.W. He fire-called me last night to ask when the Wizengamot will meet to appoint a new representative for Great Britain.”

“What?” Cornelius yelped. “But Dumbledore is Supreme Mugwump….”

“Not anymore.” Crouch said. “I don’t know what’s happened—the I.C.W.’s regulations prohibit members from sharing the details of what goes on during a session—but Brendan was able to tell the that Dumbledore is not only out as Supreme Mugwump, he’s been banned from service altogether!”

“But why hasn’t he said anything?” Fudge asked. “The Wizengamot will be meeting in a month and the Ministry needs time to vet potential replacements….”

“Knowing Dumbledore, he wants to sit on the news until he can spin it to his advantage.” Amelia scowled.

“That, or he wants to cherry-pick his successor.” Mafalda muttered. Bartemius wasn’t the only one to stare at her in open-mouthed shock. Cornelius was the first to recover.

“She’s right.” Bartemius could practically hear the sluggish gears whine in protest as the Minister forced his brain to work. “He won’t utter a peep about this before the meeting, then he’ll announce that he’s decided to ‘retire’ and his good friend, Whatshisname, has graciously volunteered to take up the burden of this great responsibility.” Bartemius blinked in surprise. Cornelius’ assessment of the situation was far more cogent and his prediction far more accurate than he was expecting. Perhaps the man wasn’t quite as stupid as…. “Ah,, well. It could be worse, I suppose. It’s not like Dumbledore is going to appoint a Dark wizard to represent us, is it?”

The man was exactly as stupid as Bartemius had thought.

“Whether the witch or wizard in question is light, dark or calico is hardly the point, Minister!” Amelia snapped.

“It isn’t?” Fudge looked genuinely befuddled. Bartemius decided to intervene before Amelia hexed him.

“Minister, I realize that the day-to-day business of our government is of little interest to you, but surely you can see what impact this news will have on our relations with other Ministries? If Dumbledore has blundered so badly that he’s been banned from the I.C.W., how do you think they’ll react to us sending them one of his cronies?”

“Moreover, by allowing him to appoint his replacement—either in fact or under the guise of a heavily rigged election—we will send a very clear message. We will be telling the world that the Wizengamot and the Ministry are nothing more than Albus Dumbledore’s puppets, happy to agree to give him anything he wants, no matter how ridiculous or illegal.” Amelia seemed to have gained control of her temper and was eyeing the Minister as though he was a slug that was in desperate need of squashing. “Albus Dumbledore seems to be laboring under the mistaken belief that he can do whatever he likes, whenever he likes, and to whomever he likes without reference to any of the duly appointed officers of this government and without challenge or consequence.” 

“But…but he’s Albus Dumbledore!” Fudge protested.

“So?” Bartemius arched an eyebrow. “He is not above the law, Minister.

“He…he’s very popular.” Mafalda ventured, sounding quite nervous. “Everyone knows he defeated Grindelwald and that he was the only one You-Know-Who was afraid of…”

“Grindelwald was defeated in 1945.” Amelia said, rather waspishly. “And no one ever seems to remember that Dumbledore only defeated him after a strike team consisting of no less than thirty Aurors and Hit-Wizards took out his personal guard and wounded Grindelwald himself. My father was there, you know. He told me Dumbledore didn’t even show up until the battle was almost over. As for Voldemort….” She rolled her eyes as Cornelius yelped and Mafalda pressed a shaking hand to her breast “he was defeated by a baby. The fact that Dumbledore was the only person he feared says a lot more about the rest of us than it does about Albus Dumbledore.”

“Mafalda does have a point, though.” Cornelius said. “Face it, Amelia, nobody cares about all those Aurors and Hit Wizards. Nobody even remembers them. Dumbledore’s everyone’s favorite eccentric uncle. The Wizengamot will never convict him—assuming that the public doesn’t rip us to shreds for trying to arrest him.” There was a moment of silence, during which Bartemius had to remind himself not to hold his breath. This….this was the real reason he’d called this meeting.

There were three obstacles standing between Bartemius Crouch and the Minister of Magic’s office: Cornelius Fudge, Barty, and Albus Dumbledore. Despite his occasional moments of genuine political savvy, Cornelius Fudge was a corrupt, lazy narcissist who was far too easily manipulated by others to be a threat. Barty’s mind--weakened by Azkaban, constant subjection to the Imperius curse, and his own inherent instability (which Bartemius attributed to his mother’s family’s excessive inbreeding)—was so far gone that he could barely feed and wash himself, let alone interfere in his father’s plans. Barty was more dangerous for what he represented, rather than anything he actually said or did these days.

No, the only person who had the power to stop Bartemius in his tracks was Albus Dumbledore. Damming as it was, Bartemius was well aware that the evidence he’d collected was all circumstantial. Were Dumbledore to be brought up before the Wizengamot, he could easily lay the blame for the situation with the Muggleborns at the feet of Elphias Doge—who was so devoted to his “good friend” Albus that he probably wouldn’t make even a murmur of protest. As for this mess with the I.C.W.—well, the Confederation’s confidentiality rules meant that it was very likely that only Dumbledore’s fellow delegates would ever know what really happened. But, for some time now, Bartemius had suspected that Amelia Bones was quietly leading her own investigation into Britain’s most prominent wizard. If that was the case, then she might have something more substantial to pin on Dumbledore. Even if she didn’t, she had access to resources he didn’t. Her integrity had never been questioned and she had a reputation for refusing to bring charges unless she had iron-clad evidence. If she was to bring Dumbledore up before the Wizengamot, even those fools would have to sit up and take notice.

Amelia looked torn for a moment before seeming to come to a decision. She stood, abruptly, taking the others by surprise.

“Thank you for bringing these matters to my attention, Bartemius.” She said, gravely. “I would appreciate it if you could provide me with memories of your various conversations regarding this disaster with the Muggleborn Orientation system. I have contacts who may be able to shed some light on what happened at the I.C.W. I’ll reach out to them today and let you know what they have to say. In the meantime, I’ll ask the three of you not to discuss this meeting or what we’ve discussed with anyone else.” She gave each of them a brisk nod, then left the room as quickly as she could without actually running.

“Ah….well…..” Fudge looked utterly flustered, but Mafalda’s expression said as clearly as words that she had reached the same conclusion Barty had; Amelia’s request that they keep this meeting confidential was nothing more than a thinly veiled order. The only reason that order would have been given was if Amelia intended to open an investigation into Dumbledore’s activities or if there was already an investigation in progress.

As Mafalda and Cornelius took their leave and left the conference room, Bartemius sat back in his seat and smiled. 

**  
June 25  
Malfoy Manor

Hermione was rather shocked at how easily her life had fallen into a routine over the past few days. Never one to sleep late, she almost always wound up eating breakfast with one or both of the elder Malfoys, then she retreated to the library to work on her assignments. The hours between lunch and dinner were spent with Narcissa, going over the fundamentals o life in a wizarding home. After dinner, Hermione returned to the library again, where she spent the evening curled up in her cozy chair with a book. All this kept her busy and distracted from her homesickness and her lingering fears for the future, but they always resurfaced when she turned out the lights and she cried herself to sleep every night.

The morning of the party dawned bright and clear and the soft breeze blowing in through the window promised that the day would be warm, but not uncomfortably so. Hermione was pleased for Narcissa’s sake—as predicted, the number of attendees was significantly higher than in previous years and the only way to reasonably accommodate everyone was to set up tables and chairs on the lawn. The party was due to start at two, so Hermione spent her morning in the library, as usual. At ten minutes to the hour, she joined the Malfoys in the Reception Room to await the arrival of the first guest. 

As Narcissa had warned, Hermione hadn’t been able to get into the robes Madam Laurette had designed without Tori’s assistance. Once the elf was finished with her ministrations, however, she’d been astounded at the result. The robes were a deep burgundy that brought out the warm tones of her skin and seemed to make her hair look darker and more luxurious. This effect was helped by something Tori had done that made her hair curly, rather than frizzy or bushy. The cut of the robes was age-appropriate, yet Hermione still felt very grown-up in them. She wore no jewelry, but Narcissa had informed her that Lucius would be presenting her with something during his speech. Hermione had attempted to protest, but Narcissa had simply ignored her.

When Hermione walked into the Reception Room, Narcissa gasped with delight, while Lucius simply arched an eyebrow before giving what she hoped was a nod of approval. They had to wait another minute or two for Draco, who arrived dressed in robes that were so dark green as to be almost black. The color and cut were quite flattering, but the effect was somewhat spoiled by the fact that his hair was plastered onto his head with what looked and smelled like perfumed wax. Both the elder Malfoys frowned at this, but there was no time to undo the damage, for Narcissa wanted to give them some last minute instructions.

“The guests will start coming any minute.” She sounded rather breathless. “You children will stay here and receive them with us, but we will dismiss you once enough young people are here. You will, of course, be in charge of entertaining them. This party is a chance for you to start getting to know some of your fellow Hogwarts students outside of the classrooms and dormitories and we expect you both to take advantage of this opportunity. Remember, this is the first event of the summer and many hostesses will decide whether to invite you to their events based on how they see you behave today. I should also add that you are now of an age where social missteps can no longer be written off as youthful ignorance.” She paused and gave Draco a sharp look. If he noticed this, he ignored it. 

Since the broom fiasco, Draco had been on his best behavior. Hermione wasn’t sure what punishment his parents had inflicted on him, but it appeared to have been quite effective. Their few, brief interactions over the past few days had been civil enough, though painfully stiff and formal. Neither of them was ready to take things to the level of being friendly.

“Dinner will be served at five.” Narcissa continued. “Draco, I have put you at a table with Terry Boot, Neville Longbottom, and the MacMillan boys….”

“Mother!” Draco looked horrified. “Boot’s all right, but you can’t expect me to sit with MacMillan and Longbottom.”

“I can and I do! You will sit with them for the entire meal and you will be respectful and polite. Hermione, I’ve put you with the Greengrass sisters, Susan Bones, and Penelope Clearwater.”

“Penelope’s coming?” Hermione’s eyes widened with excitement. “Oh good! I can ask her about electives.” To her surprise, Mr. Malfoy smiled at this, though she couldn’t imagine why.

“Excellent!” Narcissa beamed. “Dinner will finish at six thirty and Lucius will make his speech. Dancing will begin at seven. Hermione, your first dance will be with Lucius and your second with Draco….” Hermione stifled a sigh as she watched Draco’s expression settle into a scowl. Neither of them were happy about this particular formality, but Narcissa was adamant that it was necessary to show family solidarity.

At least formal dances in the wizarding world were almost identical to those that had been popular in the Muggle world during the early 19th century. An unrepentant fan of regency romances, Hermione’s mother had signed them up for lessons the previous summer. To her surprise, Hermione had found that she enjoyed the classes and had worked hard to perfect her form. She still remembered the steps well enough, though she’d had to practice with Mr. Malfoy in order to become accustomed to dancing with a partner who was significantly taller than she was. Narcissa had assured her that Draco had also received extensive dance training and would comport himself with both elegance and dignity, but he had managed to avoid attending even one of the practice sessions, so they had not actually partnered one another yet.

“After the first set of dances is complete, you both will retire for the evening.” Narcissa concluded. She had already explained to Hermione that, in the wizarding world, a ‘party’ almost always meant a meal followed by a ball and that a child’s age determined how much of the event he or she could attend. Since Hermione was almost fourteen Narcissa had debated allowing her to remain at the dance for three sets, rather than one, but had finally decided that it was best to send both children off at the same time.

There was a soft chime and Narcissa gave a happy little gasp. She quickly arranged them so that they were standing in a line to the left of the large fireplace that provided Floo access to the Manor. A moment later, green flames burst into life and then Hermione found herself being introduced to Amos Diggory (Head of the Ministry’s Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures), his wife, Clara, and their son, Cedric (a Hufflepuff who was due to start his sixth year in September). A House elf Hermione hadn’t met before, quickly took the guests’ cloaks and another one ushered them through a set of French doors that led onto the Manor’s immaculate lawn. 

Almost as soon as the Diggorys were out of the room, the fire burst into life again and, in short order, Hermione met Otho Yaxley, the Junior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic. After Mr. Yaxley came the Sackvilles (she was Head Healer at Saint Mungo’s and he was a well-known wizard portraitist), the Grenobles (owners of the Comet broom company), and the Fleamonts (noted philanthropists). 

Soon, a line was forming and Hermione began to see that there was a sort of rhythm to the greetings. Mr. Malfoy stood at the head of the receiving line and exchanged a few words of greeting with each guest. Then, Narcissa would extend her greetings and introduce Hermione. She had drilled Hermione in how to greet each guest—curtsey to the adult men, who bowed to her, shake hands with the women, and nod politely to the children. Hermione was only expected to speak if someone addressed her directly and most didn’t, other than to express their pleasure at meeting her. Narcissa had warned her that this would be the case—Hermione did not exist, socially speaking, until she was “officially” introduced during Lucius’ speech. Finally, all the guests greeted Draco and most wished him a happy birthday. The guests then passed into the hands of the waiting elves. Most were ushered out to the lawns, but a few lingered in the Reception room, either waiting for other guests or for the Malfoys themselves. After only a short while of this, Hermione began to grow rather bored.

They had been greeting people for nearly an hour when Hermione spotted her first friendly face. She had seen several people she knew already—Theodore nott, Vincent Crabbe, and Blaise Zabini had all already been through the line—but they were Draco’s friends, not hers. The relief she felt on seeing Neville Longbottom’s face hit her with an almost physical force. She almost laughed at the look of shock on his face when he saw her, but was impressed with how quickly he managed to pull himself together to introduce her to his grandmother, the Dowager of Longbottom. This was a side of Neville Hermione had never seen before—he was sure of himself and exuded a certain confidence that was distinctly lacking at Hogwarts. 

The Longbottoms were followed by the Tuttles (owners and managers of the Holyhead Harpies) and then Hermione spotted three more familiar faces in the crowd that had now gathered to wait their turn in the receiving line: Pansy Parkinson, Daphne Greengrass, and Millicent Bulstrode. 

Hermione had not been surprised to learn that Draco’s Slytherin yearmates were being invited to the party, along with their parents, but had resolved to keep her displeasure at the thought of having to spend time in Pansy Parkinson’s company to herself. Something of her unhappiness must have shown in her face, though, for Narcissa’s gaze had narrowed.

“I take it that you and Miss Parkinson are not on friendly terms?”

“That’s….an understatement.” Hermione admitted, knowing that honesty was the best policy in this situation. Even after only a few days’ acquaintance, she’d come to respect (and fear) Narcissa Malfoy’s ability to detect a lie, prevarication, or half-truth in anything she said. She had to wonder if Narcissa was as suspicious as she was of Draco’s sudden change of heart and repeated promises to behave properly.

“Tell me.” Narcissa ordered, recalling Hermione’s mind back to the subject at hand. At first, Hermione was reluctant to speak of her many, many squabbles with Pansy. Her mother had always admonished her against speaking ill of someone behind their backs and years of schoolyard bullying had instilled a mortal terror in her of being thought of as a “tattletale.” Still, the more the talked, the easier it became.

“…she tried to hex me again at the Leaving Feast, but she missed.” She finished, finally.

“I see.” Narcissa sat back and eyed her carefully. “Tell me, Hermione. What is your assessment of Pansy Parkinson?” Hermione had listened to conversations between the elder Malfoys in which others had been subjected to the same treatment, but this was the first time she’d been asked to do it herself. She thought carefully, before speaking.

“Pansy….Pansy is the sort of person for whom everything has come far too easy.” She said, finally. “She’s intelligent, but she does poorly in class and then complains when others—those she deems ‘inferior’—get better grades than her. Though I’ve never seen it myself, I’ve been told that she can be quite charming and personable. Again, she doesn’t bother doing that with people she thinks are inferior. In fact,” Hermione frowned “from what I’ve seen, she doesn’t even bother being nice to her so-called ‘friends.’”

“We’ll come back to that.” Narcissa murmured. “What else? You say that Pansy does not do well in her classes. Is this laziness or lack of talent?”

“A bit of both, I think.” Hermione chewed her lip thoughtfully, before she saw Narcissa’s slight frown and stopped. “She doesn’t seem to care a jot for the theory behind the magic we are asked to do and I’ve heard her complaining that some of the practical exercises are pointless. However, even when she’s really trying her spells aren’t very strong.”

“Hmmm. And what of her strengths?” Hermione had to think for a moment about that one. Her first instinct was to say that Pansy had none, but she knew that was an emotional response and not a rational one.

“She is very cunning.” She said at last. “Whenever she’s tried to hex me, she’s either done it someplace like the Library, where she knows I won’t retaliate or when there’s a crowd around to keep her actions hidden from the teachers. And, as I said, she’s intelligent. Her poor theoretical work is lack of interest, not lack of comprehension.” Narcissa smiled at her.

“That was a very concise and balanced assessment.” She said, her voice warm with approval. “I’d like to return to the matter of Miss Parkinson’s friends. To start with, who are they?”

“Well, I can’t speak to who she spends time with in her Common Room, of course, but every time I’ve seen her, Pansy is either with Draco and his friends or with Daphne Greengrass, Tracey Davis, and Alessia Carrow.” Narcissa frowned slightly at this.

“Daphne Greengrass?....hmmm…..I suspect that is Balfur’s doing……”

“I’m sorry?”

“Oh, nothing, dear. I was just thinking out loud. Well, as far as the party goes, I don’t think you need worry. Pansy will be attending with her family, including her grandmother, Eudora. Eudora Parkinson is a renowned hostess and leader of Society. She’s also quite a formidable character. Pansy won’t dare do or say anything to embarrass her grandmother in public.”

As she watched Pansy approach, Hermione braced herself for what was to come. Narcissa had told her that she was to treat all Hogwarts students outside of those in her own house as if she was meeting them for the first time. Therefore, she was expected to be polite and friendly to people who had regularly gone out of her way to make life at Hogwarts unpleasant for her. Her only consolation was that Pansy, Daphne, and the rest were playing by the same rules and would be required to be cordial to her or risk the wrath of their elders.

The crowd had now sorted itself out and Pansy was at the head of the line, followed by Daphne and then Millicent. Behind Millicent was a tall, intimidating looking older woman with elaborately curled hair. From the way Pansy kept glancing in her direction, Hermione suspected that this must be Eudora. Pansy gave a pretty curtsey to Mr. Malfoy, then began exchanging pleasantries with Narcissa. Hermione noticed that, even as she gushed about Narcissa’s robes, Pansy kept glancing back and forth between her and Daphne Greengrass, who was immediately behind her.

“Thank you, Pansy, dear.” Narcissa said, finally interrupting Pansy when she started to repeat herself. “Now, allow me to introduce my daughter, Hermione.” Pansy turned to look straight at Hermione, gave her a vicious smile, then moved past her without any further acknowledgement.

“Draco!” She gave an excessively loud cry, sweeping by Hermione, as if she didn’t exist, Pansy extended her hands to Draco, who was not bothering to hide his smirk.

“Pansy, I’m so glad you could join us!” Draco had also pitched his voice a bit louder than was really necessary. Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes, wondering if either of them realized just how very obvious they were being. Deciding that the best response was simply to ignore them, she turned her attention to Daphne, who had now stopped in front of Narcissa. After a few polite pleasantries, Narcissa turned to Hermione once again.

“Daphne, dear, allow me to introduce you to my daughter, Hermione.”

“How do you do, Miss Malfoy?” From somewhere to her right, Hermione could hear Pansy’s gasp of outrage as Daphne performed the little ritual perfectly. She wasn’t the only one who heard this, apparently, for Hermione saw Daphne’s eyes flick once towards Pansy before she deliberately rolled her eyes. “I’m very pleased to meet you.”

“And I you.” Hermione gave the by-now familiar response.

“I look forward to speaking with you later.” Daphne murmured before turning her attention to Draco. Those words had a curious effect on Narcissa, whose face looked as though she’d just been relieved of a heavy burden. Daphne was followed by Millicent, who also observed all the niceties and, though she didn’t make any personal remarks, she gave Hermione a speculative look that was devoid of her usual rancor.

Hermione had been correct in her assumption that the older woman behind Millicent was Pansy’s grandmother, Eudora. As Narcissa introduced her, a hush fell on the room, as if everyone was waiting to see what would happen next. Clearly aware that all eyes were on her, Madame Parkinson drew herself up to her full height and gave Hermione a penetrating look.

“It is a pleasure to meet you, Miss Malfoy.” Though her voice was not a decibel over what Narcissa had said was proper, Hermione had the distinct impression that even those in the furthest corner of the room could hear her. 

“And you, madam.” Hermione murmured, keeping eye contact as she extended her hand, as Narcissa had taught her. 

“Such nice manners.” Madam Parkinson murmured, as she took the offered hand. “It is so nice to meet a properly brought up young witch.” Hermione saw her eyes flicker towards the man standing behind her, who was scowling. “I look forward to having an opportunity to speak with you, Miss Malfoy.” With that, Madam Parkinson moved on to greet Draco and Hermione found herself being introduced to Pansy’s father, Elbridge, He was still scowling as Hermione curtsied to him and the bow he gave in response amounted to little more than a slight stooping of the shoulders.

A few minutes after the Parkinson, Greengrass, and Bulstrode families went through the Receiving line, there was a lull and Narcissa pulled Hermione and Draco to one side.

“Almost all the school-aged children who were invited have arrived. Go and attend to them and remember what I told you.” As she was dismissed, Hermione’s stomach began to roil with tension. Narcissa had been very clear about her expectations and, though she had not issued any sort of specific threat, Hermione was certain that a failure on her part to live up to those expectations would not be taken lightly or well. On the surface, the task was simple. All Hermione had to do was mingle with the other students, get to know them, and begin forming friendships or, at the very least, alliances that she could nurture over the rest of the summer and when she returned to Hogwarts. The difficulty lay in the fact that Hermione had absolutely no idea how to do any of that.

When she had expressed her concerns, Narcissa had just laughed and told her to be herself, to be confident and to take an interest in things other people enjoyed—all the same things her own mother had told her when she’d had similar fears before going to Hogwarts. Hermione was convinced that her mother’s advice was partially responsible for the misery she’d suffered during her first two months at school and she had no illusions that it would work any better for her now. Still, she had to try.

When Narcissa dismissed them, Hermione set off into the crowd looking for someone of her own age group. She could see Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy Parkinson huddled together in one corner of the room, but they appeared to be the only students still indoors. To her relief, Draco headed straight for them, so Hermione slipped through the French doors and onto the lawn.

“Hermione!” She turned to see Neville waving at her. He was standing next to Penelope Clearwater who reached out to give her a brief, one-armed hug as she approached. “I’m so glad to see you’re all right. You are all right, aren’t you?” He asked, anxiety written all over his face.

“I suppose I’m as well as can be expected.” Hermione shrugged, not feeling it necessary to put on a brave face for Neville and Penelope. Neville knew her too well and, since waking up in adjoining beds in the hospital wing, she’d felt a kinship with Penelope that she’d never felt with anyone else—not even the other victims of the basilisk. “The Malfoys have been very kind to me.” She said, to reassure Neville, “but it’s….well, it’s hard. And now, there’s this.” She waved at the throng of people. “I’m supposed to go mingle and…”

“Make alliances.” Penelope nodded. “We know. That’s what we’re all supposed to do at this party.”

“Don’t worry, Hermione.” Neville gave her an encouraging smile. “We’re old hands at this. We’ll show you how it’s done.” With that, he took one arm and Penelope grabbed the other and the three of them thrust their way into the crowd.

The next few hours flew by as Neville and Penelope escorted Hermione around the lawn, making sure that she talked to all the Hogwarts students (and many of their parents). By the time they were finished, the only people she had not spoken to were the Slytherins who had grouped themselves around Draco and, as they had remained in the Reception Room rather than joining the rest of the party, Neville had assured her that she was not obligated to seek them out. As they walked around, other students joined them until, at last, they formed their own small crowd that was separate from the adults. They settled on chairs and cushioned benches that had been arranged under some trees and a long, low table bearing refreshments appeared. Hermione was so engrossed in a discussion about Hogwarts electives that she didn’t even notice its arrival.

“Ancient Runes is the best!” Cedric Diggory was saying. “A basic understanding of runes is required for a lot of different careers, and Rune Masters are highly sought after. Professor Babbling used to work for Gringotts before she came to Hogwarts and she was one of their highest-paid human employees!” This statement earned a murmur of appreciation.

“Yeah, but it’s a slog until your fifth year.” Orla Fenwick warned. She was a Gryffindor who was going into her seventh year. Hermione had seen her in the Common Room, of course, but this was the first time they’d ever talked. “All you do in third and fourth year is memorize reams of runes and translate boring old textbooks.”

“It’s not that bad.” Penelope chided her. “Professor Babbling did a lot to keep us interested while we were learning the basics. You don’t just learn the runes, you learn about the cultures that created them.” Hermione’s breath caught in her throat as she did her best to suppress the urge to squeal with excitement.

“That’s true.” Orla laughed. “I learned more about history in three classes with Babbling than I did in five years of classes with Binns!” This earned a laugh from the crowd.

“What about Arithmancy?” Susan Bones was sitting next to Hermione and seemed as interested in the conversation as she was. “I’ve heard that it’s the hardest class at Hogwarts.”

“It can be.” Penelope nodded. “It depends on how much math you learned before Hogwarts.”

“Can I ask….” The words slipped out of Hermione’s mouth before she could stop herself.

“Can we stop you?” Zacharias Smith’s tone was rather unfriendly. He was a Hufflepuff in Hermione’s year and she’d always found him to be a rather arrogant prig. Now, she added the word ‘impolite’ to her mental description of him. Apparently, others felt the same way for several people glared at him, and Hannah Abbott whacked him on the arm while hissing at him to be silent.

“Of course you can.” Penelope gave Hermione a warm and encouraging smile. Though somewhat deflated by Smith’s apparent hostility, Hermione pressed on.

“Do you all go to school before Hogwarts? Children in magical families, I mean.” 

“Not in the way that Muggleborns do.” Penelope replied. “Most of us are taught at home by our parents, a relative, or tutors.”

“There are some people who run dame-schools.” Cedric added. “When I was a kid, I went to the Weasleys every day. Mrs. Weasley taught me reading, writing, and basic arithmetic. At the time, I was the only non-Weasley there, but since the twins started Hogwarts, I hear she’s taking in the children of other Ministry employees.”

“A few of us attended Muggle primary school.” Hazel Smith said. She was Zacharias’ cousin, though neither of them cared to admit that fact publicly. Even now, Zacharias was sneering at her. 

“So, there’s no uniform curriculum?” Hermione tried to keep her dismay off her face. “No teacher qualifications? Nothing like that?”

“No.” Penelope said. “There have been several attempts to start some kind of primary school or, at least, to require that everyone learn some of the same things, but they always get voted down in the Wizengamot.”

“Some of the old families, like the Malfoys, don’t want their kids mingling with the riff-raff.” Zacharias Smith sniffed. This time, it was Hazel who hit him and, from the way he winced and rubbed his arm, Hermione suspected she had more strength than Hannah.

“Think about where we are, idiot!” Hazel gave Hermione an apologetic smile. “I’m sure my cousin didn’t intend any offense.” It was a lie and they both knew it, but it was neither the time nor the place to discuss it

“Of course.” Hermione murmured. There was an awkward pause before Penelope spoke again.

“Anyway, because there are no rules about what kids are taught, we all come to Hogwarts knowing different things. Take me, for example. My father has a passion for history and made sure that I read a lot about it before I got to Hogwarts because Binns’ class is so dreadful.”

“Mrs. Weasley taught us all about ingredient preparation and basic brewing. That’s pretty common.” Cedric nodded. As others chipped in with suggestions of what their parents thought it was important they learn, Hermione was struck with a terrible realization. She made a mental note to discuss her suspicions with Neville later, in private, and forced her mind back to the subject at hand.

“So, not everyone learns the same thing.” She said. “Is that what makes Arithmancy so hard?”

“Like I said, it depends.” Penelope replied. “If you have a good grounding in mathematics, you should be fine. Most muggleborn students have no trouble with the material for third and fourth year Arithmancy and I’ve heard a lot of them complain about being bored because Professor Vector has to spend so much time going over stuff they learned in primary school just to get everyone to the same level.”

“Is Professor Vector a good teacher?” Hermione asked. “She’s going t o be my tutor this summer—mine and Draco’s….”

“You’re so lucky!” Patricia Cornfoot moaned. “My father’s hired old Elbridge Shacklebolt again. He’s dry as dust and doesn’t know a thing about anything but magical theory.”

“Better him than Harbell Umbridge.” Orla muttered, looking dark. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Roger Davies asked, looking perplexed. “I had him two summers ago and he was quite jolly.”

“You’re not a girl.” Orla said, but refused to elaborate on the subject.

“What about Care of Magical Creatures?” Millicent Bulstrode was sitting on a bench with Daphne Greengrass and her sister, Astoria. “Is it worth taking?”

“That’s a great class!” Nathaniel Tupman grinned. “Professor Kettleburn knows everything there is to know about creatures and you get a lot of hands-on experience.”

“But Kettleburn’s retiring and, as far as I know, they haven’t hired a new teacher yet.” Titus Hopkirk shook his head. There were nods of understanding all around. Since Titus’ aunt was the Head of the Ministry’s Department of Education, he was the closest they had to a credible source of information.

“It all sounds so fascinating.” Hermione sighed. “I really can’t make up my mind and I want to take Divination and Muggle Studies, too!”

“Don’t bother with Divination.” Hazel Smith snorted. “It’s useless unless you’ve got the gift of Sight and, even then, you shouldn’t bother with the class. I’m not Gifted and I have more clairvoyance in my big toe than the Professor Trelawney has in her whole body!”

“She’s right.” Penelope said, seeing Hermione’s frown. “The class is a joke. People take it because they think it’s an easy ‘O’ and then they do terribly on the O.W.L. exam because Trelawney hasn’t actually taught them anything useful. I don’t think anyone’s taken N.E.W.T. level Divination in years.”

“Don’t bother with Muggle Studies, either.” Hazel warned. “My roommate, Sarah Tonks—“

“Any relation to Healer Tonks at Saint Mungo’s?” Daphne asked.

“She’s his niece. “ Hazel nodded. “Anyway, she’s muggleborn and she decided to take Muggle Studies because she’s thinking about working for Gringotts after school. She dropped the class after a month and spent two hours ranting about how awful it was. She says that Professor Burbage is nice enough, but the material is at least 50 years out of date and a lot of it is just wrong.” Hermione gaped at her in shock. In the back of her mind, pieces of a puzzle began fitting themselves together and she really didn’t like the picture that was emerging. Ruthlessly, she pushed that to the back of her mind so she could ask the more urgent question.

“But….without an O.W.L. in Muggle Studies, will she be able to work for the goblins?” 

“Oh, you don’t have to take the class to sit the exams.” Cedric laughed. “You can make an appointment to do it at the Ministry. You have to pay, of course, but loads of people do it.”

“Really?” Susan Bones sat forward, looking intent.

“Oh yeah.” Cedric nodded. “That’s how Bill Weasley ended up with twelve O.W.L.s. My Dad told me all about it. People leave Hogwarts and decide they want a certain type of job or they want to get a Mastery in something, but they didn’t take the right classes or they want to specialize in something Hogwarts doesn’t teach. So, they get a tutor or teach themselves and then they make an appointment to take the exams. The only rule is that you can’t take an exam more than once.”

At dinner, Hermione found herself seated at a small, round table between Susan Bones and Daphne Greengrass. During the fish course, while Susan and Penelope were busy entertaining Astoria Greengrass with tales of Hogwarts, Daphne leaned over to have a quiet word with her.

“Listen, Granger…er….I mean, Miss Malfoy… Merlin, that’s weird!”

“You have no idea.” Hermione murmured. “Call me Hermione.”

“Uh….okay. You can call me Daphne, if you like. Anyway, I wanted to apologize for how I’ve treated you at Hogwarts. I can promise you that it won’t happen again.” Hermione couldn’t help the suspicion that rose in her chest.

“Is this because I’m a Malfoy now and not just another muggleborn?” she asked. She didn’t like the idea that Daphne was only saying this because she’d been adopted into one of the “good” families. 

“No.” Daphne shook her head. “I can see how you might reach that conclusion, though. This has nothing to do with your blood status. In some ways, it’s about Pansy and what a right twit she’s become and in other ways, it’s about you and what you’re going to be.”

“What do you mean?” Hermione kept her voice low, to avoid attracting the attention of either the other girls at the table or that of Crabbe and Goyle who were sitting only a few feet away. 

“About Pansy or you?”

“Both, but start with Pansy. Are you telling me she hasn’t always been so nasty?”

“Pansy’s always had a vicious streak.” Daphne admitted. “But when we were younger, she didn’t think she was better than everyone else and she had manners. Also, she could talk about other things besides blood supremacy and Draco Malfoy.” Daphne sounded rather wistful and Hermione wondered how long the two girls had been friends.

“What happened?” she asked.

“I’m not really sure.” Daphne shrugged. “I do know that she stopped spending a lot of time with her grandmother a couple of years before we started at Hogwarts, so that may have something to do with it. She certainly wouldn’t have tried to pull that stunt on the Receiving Line if Eudora still had any influence over her.”

“What was that about? I mean, I know she was attempting to humiliate me but I can’t imagine why she chose to do it then and there or why she thought I’d be upset.”

“It wasn’t about you, well….not totally about you.” Daphne said. “In her own pitiful, half-arsed way, Pansy was trying to cement her position as Society’s rising star. She’s desperate to take out the competition and, as far as she’s concerned, that means you.”

“But I’ve only been a Malfoy for a week.” Hermione protested. “And what about you and Millicent? From what Narcissa said, both of your families are far older than the Parkinsons and your mum has just as much clout as Pansy’s grandmother.”

“You’re right on both counts. Pansy doesn’t dare go after me, though, because she knows that I’ll retaliate.” Daphne flashed a wicked grin. “She knows that if she tried something like that with me, she’d find itching powder in her knickers. And that would be just the start of her suffering. And Mille….well, let’s just say that Pansy insulted Millie the first week of our first year and wound up in the hospital wing with a broken nose. As for you….well, you’re the bright new thing, aren’t you? Everyone knows how clever you are and after what happened at the train station, people see you as a tragic heroine. When Pansy refused to be formally introduced to you today she was stating that you were not worthy to be a part of Society and she was basically ordering everyone else to shun you, socially speaking. I think she honestly believed that people would go along with her nonsense, just because she’s a Parkinson.”

“That’s rather….arrogant.” Hermione said, biting back the stronger epithets that came to her mind.

“Isn’t it, though?” Daphne smirked. “To make things worse, Pansy was trying to force Eudora into a position where she would have to publicly snub you or humiliate her own granddaughter. If Eudora Parkinson had refused to be formally introduced to you, that really would have been the end of your social career.”

“So I gather. But she was…I mean, she did…and everyone else… I don’t understand.” Hermione did her best to quell her rising frustration. Fortunately, Daphne seemed inclined to be patient with her.

“Pansy thought that when she snubbed you, Millie and I would do the same.” She explained. “Mind you, she didn’t say a word about this to us; not that we would have gone along with it, if she had. Still, if all three of us had refused the introduction, Eudora really would have been in a rather awkward position. To reject the introduction would have ruined your social career because, unlike Pansy, people actually pay attention to Eudora. However, that snub would have given great offense—not only to you, but to the Malfoys. On the other hand, if Mille and I had refused the introduction and she had accepted it, things would have gone much worse for Pansy.”

“How?”

“Right now, Pansy is humiliated, it’s true. And, given her age, there will be some repercussions, but she hasn’t done irreparable damage to her reputation. Everyone sees her for what she is—a petty, spoiled little girl who tried to swim with the sharks and got bitten for her troubles. She probably won’t get many invitations this summer, but by Yule, the whole thing will have blown over. Now, if Millie and I had snubbed you, people might have thought that three of the oldest, most influential families had decided to exclude you. Remember, we were the first people to go through the line from our crowd.”

“So, if Eudora had snubbed me, people might have thought she told Pansy to do it.” Hermione murmured.

“Yes. That’s exactly what Pansy wanted to happen. Either Eudora would have had to snub you—which she would never have done because it would have hurt her own reputation and would have deeply offended the Malfoys—or she would have had to refute her granddaughter’s actions. Basically, she would have had to choose between snubbing you or snubbing Pansy. However, since Millie and I both accepted the introduction, nobody saw her actions as a rejection of Pansy’s actions.”

“This is making my head spin!” Hermione complained. “How do you keep it all straight?”

“I’ve grown up with it. You’ve only been at it a week.” Daphne reminded her. “Besides, you handled Pansy brilliantly! Honestly, I didn’t think you had that much Slytherin in you.” Hermione felt oddly pleased by the compliment. It wasn’t until she was in bed that night that she remembered that Daphne had said something about what she was “going to be.” She’d gotten so distracted discussing social politics that she’d never thought to ask the other girl what that meant.

**  
June 26, 1993  
(Excerpts taken from the Society pages of several of magical Britain’s premier publications)

…There are those who have questioned whether a Muggleborn witch or wizard can ever truly fit into wizarding Society. To them, I say “Meet Miss Malfoy.” The young lady (formerly Miss Hermione Granger of London) made her official debut yesterday at the Malfoys’ annual Summer Party. Dressed in stunning burgandy robes designed for her by Madame Laurette, Miss Malfoy proved herself to be the equal of any pure-blood girl in her poise, elegance, charm, and charisma. She spent the afternoon at the center of a large group of her fellow Hogwarts students and, after dinner, showed herself to be adept at all the latest dances. There is no doubt that Miss Malfoy will be the toast of the Summer Season… (The Daily Prophet)

…While on the Receiving line at the M’s annual do, I bore witness to a scene of social Tragedy and Triumph. A certain Miss P had the audacity to refuse to be introduced to Madam M’s daughter, who was making her social debut at this event. Later in the evening, Miss P again attempted to humiliate Miss M by partnering Miss M’s brother during the second dance of the night. For her part, Miss M, bedecked in a stunning gown designed and created by Madam Laurette, handled these slights with all the skill and grace of a seasoned socialite. Miss P’s family would do well to encourage her to emulate Miss M’s fine example of proper conduct befitting a young lady of her rank and station… (The Sunday Quill)

…Move over, Harry Potter! There’s a new hero in town who is sure to play a leading role in the romantic fantasies of many a young witch. Any damsel in social distress can only hope that Neville Longbottom is nearby, for he has both a loyal heart and a flair for the gallant gesture—as Miss Hermione Malfoy discovered last night. Miss Malfoy made her social debut yesterday at the Malfoy’s annual Summer party, but was subjected to several juvenile attempts at humiliation by a jealous classmate. Sadly, this classmate managed to convince Miss Malfoy’s brother to shirk his duty to his family by refusing to take Miss Malfoy out for the second dance, as is customary on such occasions. Poor Miss Malfoy would have been left floundering on the dance floor, had young Mr. Longbottom not intervened. Sources tell me that the two (both rising third-year Gryffindors) are good friends, but that the families have yet to discuss a formal betrothal…. (Witch Weekly)

**

Longbriar (somewhere in the Yorkshire Dales)

Elbridge Parkinson did his best to school his face into an expression of impersonal politeness. “Mother. How nice to see you.”

“I doubt that.” With an impatient gesture of her wand, Eudora vanished the ash that clung to her robes. “Where are the girls?”

“Zania will be along in a minute. She’s getting dressed…” Elbridge bristled when his mother tutted in disapproval. “Perhaps next time, you could give us more notice….” Eudora waved a hand in dismissal.

“An hour is more than enough time for a respectable woman to be ready to receive visitors. Where is Pansy?”

“There is no need for her to be a part of this discussion.” Elbridge declared. Eudora’s eyes narrowed.

“As our discussion,” Elbridge couldn’t help but notice the sarcastic inflection his mother gave the word “concerns her behavior yesterday, I must insist. Jinx!” An ancient house elf appeared and looked up at Eudora with adoration. Elbridge had to resist the urge to kick the loathsome creature. “Wake Miss Pansy and help her dress. I want to see her in the Drawing Room in fifteen minutes.” As soon as the elf was gone, she swept from the room without a backwards glance. It took a full minute before Elbridge could bring his temper under control enough to follow her. In the hallway, he met his wife.

“Is she here?” Zania asked, breathlessly, patting at her elaborate hairdo. Elbridge nodded curtly.

“She’s in the Drawing Room. She’s summoned Pansy.”

“What? Why?” Elbridge stared into his wife’s cornflower blue eyes and, not for the first time, wished there was something behind them other than air. 

“Why do you think?” he hissed. “She’s furious!” 

“Nonsense!” Zania scoffed. “While I agree that Pansy’s efforts were….clumsy, I hardly think your mother can fault her for wanting to put that disgusting little mudblood in her place!”

“You know my mother doesn’t share our views on such things…” Elbridge warned. Zania stared at him for a moment, then threw her head back and laughed.

“What’s so funny?” 

“You!” She gave his cheek a fond pat. “You’re afraid of her, aren’t you? Afraid of that feeble old woman!” The vapid look in her eyes had been replaced by a spark of cruel humor. 

“I am.” Elbridge grabbed Zania’s elbow and forced her to meet his gaze. “And you should be, too. Do you have any idea what she could do to us if she wanted?” The humor left Zania’s eyes as quickly as it had come. The look she threw at him as she pulled out of his grasp was nothing but cold disgust. Wordlessly, she turned and walked towards the Drawing Room. Shaking his head in resignation, Elbridge could do nothing but follow and wonder—not for the first time—how he had allowed himself to be fooled by this woman.

They entered the drawing room to find that Eudora had settled herself in the finest armchair—the one Elbridge usually claimed for himself. On the table before her were spread out several different newspapers and magazines. Though he was too far away to read the stories, Elbridge could see that they had all been opened to the Society pages. He gulped.

“Mother!” Zania cooed. “I’m so glad you’re here….”

“Are you?” Eudora arched an eyebrow.

“Oh, yes!” Elbridge wasn’t sure whether Zania was choosing to ignore his mother’s obvious displeasure or was unaware of it. “We need to go over the gust list for the next week’s tea.” There was a moment of silence during which Eudora simply stared at Zania. Someone who didn’t know her well might have been forgiven for thinking that Eudora Parkiinson was, indeed, a rather feeble-minded old woman, but Elbridge knew better. His mind raced as he tried to think of ways to avert the oncoming disaster.

“You have not sent out invitations yet?” Eudora’s voice was deceptively calm.

“No.” Zania shook her head. “Pansy was going to write them up today. She understands that, as the hostess, it is her responsibility to do so.” She added, sanctimoniously. Eudora blinked slowly, then drew in a deep breath.


	3. Gently

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's two months after the Battle of Hogwarts and the same old problems are starting to crop up again. Hermione is determined to drag British wizarding society into the modern age and she now gets some help from the most unlikely places.

NOTES/WARNINGS  
\- The primary relationship in this story will be Hermione/Lucius/Narcissa. Other relationships will include Harry/Luna and Blaise/Daphne. None of that appears in what I have written so far.  
\- There is some naughty language and the potential for rape/non-con is suggested, although nothing actually happens.  
\- This story was inspired by a 19th century American hymn ("Gently Lord, oh gently lead us") and a picture of a girl on a horse. I have no idea how I mashed those things up in my brain and came out with this..  
\- This story is completely canon compliant, save for the epilogue, which I am ignoring completely.

\- I am aware that the last scene contains some major continuity errors, but have decided to leave them alone until I start to work on this again.

**  
CHAPTER ONE

July 1, 1998

“All work and no play makes Granger a dull girl.” Hermione Granger peered over the edge of the morning paper into the grinning face of Blaise Zabini.

“Hello, Zabini.” He rolled his eyes.

“Granger, we’re not in school anymore. I think we’re allowed to use first names.”

“You mean the way you did? Just now?” Hermione was having trouble keeping a straight face. Then again, she always had trouble keeping a straight face around Blaise Zabini. The boy….no, man standing in front of her had a rapier wit and seemed to have made it his personal mission to make Hermione giggle during every single one of the An-cient Runes classes they’d shared.

Uh…” Blaise paused, obviously replaying their conversation in his mind, before chuck-ling ruefully. “Point taken. Can I sit?”

“Sure, but I’m not staying long.” She warned him as she moved over to make room for him on the bench. “I’ve got a meeting in fifteen minutes and I need to swing by Kings-ley’s office before that.”

“A meeting, eh?” Blaise arched an eyebrow. “Well, well! We have come up in the world, haven’t we? Having meetings at the Ministry of Magic and on a first-name basis with the Director of the DMLE to boot! Should I expect to see you at the next Wizenga-mot meeting?”

“Perhaps.” Hermione gave her best “mysterious” smile and enjoyed the startled expres-sion that crossed her friend’s face.

“Hermione, don’t take this the wrong way but that’s not the sort of thing you should be joking about.” All the laughter had died out of his eyes. “I’m sure you know this, but there are still plenty of people who agreed with Riddle’s ideas, even if he was only saying all that crap just to get the old families to follow him.” He ran a distracted hand through his hair. “I mean, I know you’re brilliant, but you are a Muggleborn and there is no way the Wizengamot will allow you to sit anywhere but the visitor’s gallery.”

“The Wizengamot may not have a choice.” Hermione could feel her anger rising and pushed it down firmly, reminding herself that Blaise was not to blame for the current state of the Wizarding world. “Have you been keeping up with the news?”

“Not really.” He shrugged. “I know that Shacklebolt resigned as Minister last month and that some Council is running things right now, but that’s about it.”

“That Council is made up of representatives from the Ministry, the ICW and Britain’s non-magical government.” Hermione didn’t mention that she was a member of the Coun-cil--exactly two people outside of the Council itself knew that and she wanted it to stay that way, for now. “Not many people know this, but Riddle was targeting Wizengamot members and their families. He was keeping it quiet, of course, because some of his wealthiest and most powerful supporters were Wizengamot members but before the end, he managed to completely wipe out a lot of families.”

“So….what happens to their Seats?” Blaise asked. “In the old days, when a family line died out, the Ministry would sell their Wizengamot seat. That’s how my grandfather got ours.”

“Yes, well, the government representative had a thing or two to say about that sugges-tion.” Hermione sniffed disdainfully. “The non-magical Prime Minister wants all the seats to be elected, the way they are for Parliament. He also wants to impose term limits. The Ministry wants to keep things as they currently are, while the ICW can’t make up its mind from one day to the next. They’re still trying to hammer out a compromise, but it’s safe to say that if and when the Wizengamot reconvenes, its membership will be larger and will far more accurately reflect Britain’s magical population.”

“Well.” Blaise sat back and stared at her. “That is…interesting. Do you mind if I pass that on to my father? He likes to keep up with this sort of thing, you know, and he might be less inclined to shout at me if I can hand him a juicy piece of gossip like this.”

Hermione stood. “Will you walk with me?” Blaise nodded and they made their way to-wards the door, pausing only so Hermione could deposit her trash in the bin. “No, I don’t mind if you tell your father, but he probably already knows. Things are good between the two of you?”

“At the moment.” Blaise gave a noncommittal shrug. “We have our good days and our bad days. I’m working for him now. That’s why I’m here, actually. Some of Father’s import licenses have been languishing in the Department of International Magical Coop-eration for a few weeks and he thought that sending me over here might help speed things up.”

“Did it?” The conversation paused as they made way for several people exiting the lift.

“No.” Blaise shook his head as they entered. Other than a few memos hovering around the light, they were alone. “There’s only one witch working in there at the moment and she got rather…er….shirty when I brought up the subject of the licenses. Apparently, my father has been badgering her with owls every day for the past week. He has not yet grasped the fact that the Ministry is understaffed and has more important things to deal with than his licenses. I’d tell him, but it isn’t worth the tantrum. He threw an inkstand at my head last week when I told him that one of his shipments was delayed due to bad weather in Gibraltar.” They exited the lift and made their way towards the offices of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement.

“Poor you.” Hermione patted his arm in sympathy. “I didn’t know you wanted to join the family business.”

“I don’t.” Blaise grimaced. “I wanted to go back to Hogwarts in January and sit my NEWTs, but Father doesn’t see the point and, with Mother gone, there’s no changing his mind on the subject” They paused outside of the door leading to the DMLE’s reception area. “Without my NEWTs, I can’t get an Apprenticeship or even a decent job. So, I guess I’m stuck with Father. The worst part is that he’s always there. He won’t let me get a place of my own, so I see him all day at work and then all night at home. To be honest, I think it’s only a matter of time before we kill each other.”

“I….” Hermione paused with her hand on the door. The idea struck her like a bolt of lightning, but she instinctively knew that she had the answer to both of their problems. She just had to work out the details. “I think can help. Can you meet me tomorrow? Around noon?”

“Sure.” Blaise gave her an appraising look. “I get a lunch break. Mandragon’s Café?”

“Where’s that?”

“It’s on Lightfoot Lane, just off of Diagon Alley. First left past the bank.” Blaise grinned. “Mandragon’s is the only place with outdoor seating. You really think you can get me out of this?”

“Well, that will depend entirely on you.” Hermione gave him another mysterious smile as she opened the door. “Good-bye, Zabini.” He was still standing in the hallway, looking gobsmacked as Hermione passed Kingsley Shacklebolt’s secretary with a little wave and disappeared into his office.

“Hello, Hermione.” A small smile was playing across Kingsley Shacklebolt’s mouth as he stood up to greet her. “Dare I ask what you’ve been up to? You look far too pleased with yourself….”

“I’ve just been catching up with a friend from school.” Hermione did her best to look demure. “Is the paperwork ready?”

“It is.” Kingsley handed her a sheaf of parchment that was tied with a ribbon that, in turn, was sealed with wax. Then he handed her a separate scroll, also sealed with wax. “Give this to the Aurors. It’s their official orders. Are you sure you know what you’re doing, Hermione?”

“No.” she admitted. “But I am sure I can’t do everything on my own and I can’t think of anyone better suited to help me than Lucius Malfoy. Can you?” He shook his head. “Don’t worry so much, Kingsley. Lucius won’t do anything to me while the Aurors are there and once I have his agreement to my proposal….” She let the sentence trail off as she gave an eloquent shrug. Sighing, Kingsley nodded his acceptance and held out anoth-er scroll.

“You should give him this, as well. It’s Edmund Parkinson’s offer. I can’t imagine why Malfoy would ever consider taking it, but if we don’t at least give him the choice, Parkin-son might cause problems.”

“Duly noted. Can I use your Floo?”

“Of course. ” Kingsley gestured towards the large fireplace that dominated one wall of his office. “Powder is in the flowerpot. Use the mirror if you have any problems.” Her-mione had the urge to ask why all wizards seemed to keep their Floo powder in flower-pots, but Kingsley had already turned his attention back to the document in front of him. Standing before the fireplace, she took a deep, calming breath. Though she wasn’t expect-ing any trouble, she was still nervous. This was, after all, her first trip to Malfoy Manor since the war. She firmly pushed away her memories of her last visit. Now was not the time to dwell on the past—not if she was going to help create a better future. “Malfoy Manor.” She said, taking care to enunciate as she threw a handful of powder into the fire.

Hermione hated travelling by Floo. She had been told that it would get easier the more she did it, but she hadn’t yet managed to acquire the skill and grace possessed by most of those who grew up in the Wizarding world. She consoled herself with the reminder that she’d only ever used the Floo a handful of times and obviously lacked the requisite expe-rience, but that was not particularly helpful in situations like this when she stumbled out of the Malfoy’s fireplace, caught her foot on the rug, and fell to her knees.

A beam of ugly purple light sailed through the air where her head would have been had she not fallen. Acting purely on instinct, Hermione used the momentum of her fall to roll to her left as she flexed her wrist. She was already casting as the wand slid into her hand.

“Stupefy!” she yelled. Jumping to her feet, her gaze quickly swept the room searching for more attackers. She found herself in a parlor she didn’t recognize–not, she admitted, that she’d been given a tour of the Malfoy estate during her last visit. The room was, unlike the parts of the house she had seen, quite comfortable-looking with two large sofas and several squashy chairs. Narcissa Malfoy was sitting in one of those chairs, a cup of tea halfway to her lips. Her eyes were round, but other than that, she looked completely composed. There was an unconscious man Hermione didn’t recognize on the floor, so she assumed that her spell had hit its target. He had fallen backwards and she could clearly see the badge of the Auror office on his robes.

Before she could make any sense of what was happening, the door to the room burst open. Lucius Malfoy ran in, with Draco hot on his heels.

“Granger?” Draco gaped at her.

“What happened?” Lucius appeared to ignore her entirely as he strode to his wife’s side. Narcissa carefully put the cup and saucer down on the table before answering.

“Auror McLaggen came in here a moment ago to inform me of his requirements for to-night’s dinner. The Floo chime sounded and he insisted that we were receiving unauthor-ized guests, though I told him that we weren’t expecting anyone. The minute Miss Granger stepped out of the fireplace, he attempted to curse her with….that.” She gestured towards the fireplace. Instinctively, Hermione turned around and drew in a sharp breath. The curse or hex or….whatever, had hit the fireplace and obliterated a large portion out of the mantel. The effect seemed to be similar to that of a Blasting hex, but the area of dam-age was significantly larger. “Miss Granger moved very quickly and managed to avoid being hit. She Stunned Auror McLaggen.”

“Where’s that other one?” Lucius was still ignoring Hermione.

“McLaggen sent her to Diagon Alley about ten minutes ago.” Narcissa reported. “You know he only goes on about the menu and such when she’s not here.”

“Excuse me, but what did you mean about ‘unauthorized’ visitors and not expecting me?” Hermione asked. Her mind was spinning and now that the adrenaline was leaving her system, she found that her hands were shaking. “I have an appointment…”

“You do?” Lucius Malfoy looked at her for the first time. “With whom?”

“With you.” Hermione stared back at him. “I wrote to you about it last week.” She stopped as Lucius sighed, glaring at the fallen Auror. Whatever he might have said re-mained unspoken for, at that moment, the fire burst into life again and Kingsley Shackle-bolt practically ran into the room followed by two more Aurors. Hermione felt a twinge of jealousy at the grace the man displayed, despite the obvious haste with which he’d ar-rived. Shacklebolt stopped, took in the tableau of the downed Auror, Hermione with her wand in her hand and the three Malfoys.

“What happened?” he asked.

“This one threw a curse at me the minute I stepped out of the fireplace.” Hermione in-formed him. “He missed. I Stunned him.”

“Were they here when this happened?” Shacklebolt asked, gesturing towards the Mal-foys, but not looking at them. Draco opened his mouth to say something, but his mother put her hand on his arm and he remained silent.

“Only Mrs. Malfoy was in the room when I arrived.” Hermione reported. “Mr. Malfoy and Draco came in almost immediately after it happened. I think they must have heard the noise because they were running.”

“I would be happy to provide my memory of the incident if it will aid you in your inves-tigation.” Mrs. Malfoy supplied, helpfully.

“Thank you. I will most likely take you up on that offer.” One of the two Aurors who had arrived with Kingsley had taken up a position near the door, while the other one was kneeling next to his fallen comrade. Gingerly, she picked up McLaggen’s wand and held it, tip-to-tip with her own.

“Priori Incantatem.” She said. Hermione watched, eagerly. Harry had told her about the spell, of course, and she’d done loads of research on it, but she’d never seen it in action. A cloud the color of a bruise formed above McLaggen’s wand and formed itself into the shape that bore a strong resemblance to a cannon ball. “What the hell? I don’t recognize this spell, Chief.”

“They don’t teach it in the Academy.” Kingsley looked very grim. “This is….very bad. Get him up on the couch.” As his subordinate struggled to comply with his request, he finally turned his attention fully onto the Malfoys. “I apologize for intruding in this man-ner, but all Auror badges are equipped with enchantments that alert the main office to combat and that allow us to pinpoint their locations. Where is Auror Prewett?”

“Auror McLaggen sent her on an errand.” Narcissa Malfoy paused, and then seemed to make up her mind about something. “I should add that she was very reluctant to go. She reminded Auror McLaggen that they were both supposed to remain on the premises, but he insisted. He was….quite rude.” Something in the woman’s voice made Hermione suspect that she was understating McLaggen’s attitude.

“I see.” Kingsley sighed and rubbed his face with his hand. “Is this the first time Auror McLaggen has reacted so violently to the arrival of a guest?”

“We have not received any guests since the end of the war.” Lucius Malfoy said. “Auror McLaggen informed us that his orders stated that we were to remain isolated and confined to the house pending the conclusion of the investigation into our activities during the war. We were told that our access to the Floo network had been blocked.” Kingsley’s brow lowered in anger and Hermione spared a brief pitying thought for McLaggen.

“What else did Auror McLaggen tell you about his so-called ‘orders’?”

“When he arrived he confiscated our wands, informed us that we were all to be confined to the Manor, that we would not be allowed to send or receive owls, and that our personal possessions were to be inspected by him on a regular basis to ensure that we were not hid-ing any forbidden items. Apparently,” Lucius’ vice was dry enough to start fires. “he felt that if he damaged our property enough, he would find something.”

“Holmes, take McLaggen’s second wand.” By this time, the Auror who had been as-signed to haul McLaggen’s inert form onto the sofa was red-faced and breathing heavily. Hermione idly wondered how much McLaggen weighed. From what she could see, he did not seem to be in very good shape.

Holmes pulled up McLaggen’s right sleeve and Hermione caught a glimpse of the Auror-grade wand holster that could have been a twin for the one she wore on her own right arm.

“It’s not here, sir.” Holmes looked puzzled. She opened McLaggen’s outer robe and Hermione saw three wands tucked into it. Holmes, however, did not appear to notice them.

“Whose are those?” Hermione pointed to the wands and, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Lucius Malfoy’s scowl.

“Ours.” Though she could only see his profile, Hermione could see that Lucius’ jaw was clenched. Kingsley strode over to the sofa, snatched the three wands out of McLaggen’s belt. Placing his wand tip to one, he muttered something that Hermione couldn’t hear. Small numbers appeared to hover in midair for a moment above the wand before they vanished. He repeated the procedure with the other two wands and sighed again before turning to face Lucius Malfoy, holding the three wands out to him. “Mr. Malfoy, I must apologize on behalf of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It appears that Au-ror McLaggen has wildly exceeded his authority and grossly abused his position. To be perfectly clear, his orders were to monitor your activities and to accompany you on any excursions you made outside of your home…”

“Excursions?” Draco seemed to be unable to contain himself. “We haven’t been allowed out of the house in nearly two months! That bastard wouldn’t even let my mother sit in her own bloody garden!”

“That’s enough, Draco.” Narcissa gave Kingsley a sad smile. “I must apologize for my son’s outburst, but we have all been under a great deal of strain.”

“Chief?” Every head in the room (except that belonging to the still unconscious McLag-gen) turned to the door. The second Auror who had come in with Kingsley stood there, gripping a third Auror—a much younger one—by the arm.  
,  
“Ah, Let her in Jenkins.” The Auror released the young woman’s arm and she walked forward, hesitantly. Her hair was cut short and was an unnaturally bright shade of red and, with a pang, Hermione was reminded of her first meeting with Tonks.

“Dare I ask?” She was looking at Narcissa and Hermione had the impression that she was doing so to avoid looking at her boss.

“Auror Prewett, explain yourself!” Kingsley snapped. “Where have you been?”

“Auror McLaggen sent me to Diagon Alley to fetch….” The girl was only three or four years older than she was, Hermione realized, and beyond the slight resemblance to Nym-phadora Tonks, there was something familiar about her. Looking at her more closely, Hermione realized that her estimation of the woman’s age had been remarkably accu-rate—Auror Prewett had been at Hogwarts with her. She’d been a fifth year Hufflepuff prefect during Hermione’s first year and, though their paths had seldom crossed, Hermi-one could clearly recall the older girl’s attempts to comfort her in the bathroom on Hal-loween.

“For…?” Kingsley prompted.

“For his cigars.” Auror Prewett sounded miserable and was now staring fixedly at the floor.

“I see.”

“I’m sorry, sir!” Auror Prewett burst out. “I know I shouldn’t have left, but McLaggen said it was all right and he said….he said…”

“He told her that if she didn’t do as he ordered, he would make things….and I quote…’very hard’ for her cousin.” Narcissa Malfoy interjected. She clearly felt a need to protect the younger woman, though Hermione couldn’t fathom why she would want to do something like that.

“Her cousin?” Kingsley looked confused.

“Yes sir. Greg Goyle, sir. First cousin on my mother’s side.” Prewett’s voice was very quiet and Hermione could almost see the weight of responsibility on her shoulders.

“Very well. Tell me, what were your orders with regards to the Malfoys?”

“We were charged with keeping the Malfoy family confined to the Manor, with…” Kingsley held up a hand to stop the flow of words.

“Did you read the orders yourself, Auror Prewett, or did you just take McLaggen’s word for it?”

“I read them sir.” She looked up at him for the first time, obviously offended at the no-tion that she would not have done so.

“Who signed those orders?”

“Auror Dawlish, sir.” There was an odd, low rumbling sound and Hermione realized that Kingsley was growling. She bit her lip to keep from speaking. John Dawlish had taken over as Head Auror when Kingsley become Minister of Magic and then Head of the DMLE. She’d met him several times and had taken an instant dislike to him. He was, in her opinion, a pompous, self-important bully who’d gotten the job because of his connec-tions and seniority rather than his talent or integrity.

Kingsley’s face looked like thunder. His arms were folded across his chest and he was tapping his cheek with his wand. Hermione couldn’t help but wonder what “Mad Eye” Moody would say if he’d seen that. She nearly jumped with surprise when he suddenly spun to face her. “Hermione, I need to go back to the office and sort this mess out now. If the Malfoys really haven’t been getting their mail…”

“We haven’t.” Lucius interjected. “We have not seen so much as a Daily Prophet in nearly two months.”

“Indeed.” Kingsley nodded. He seemed to be making a real effort to avoid looking at the other man. “Since that is the case, they are no doubt unaware of recent events and deci-sions made by the Ministry and the Council. Would you please make sure that they are fully informed of those decisions and how they are affected by them? His deposition is scheduled for tomorrow morning.” He jerked his chin in Lucius Malfoy’s direction. “I have no idea what McLaggen and Dawlish had in mind, but it would have been disastrous for everyone if he had missed it because someone was either too stupid or too petty to see that his mail was delivered.”

Hermione nodded. “Will you be checking in with the other surveillance teams?” She didn’t like the idea of telling Kingsley how to do his job, but they couldn’t risk him over-looking something so important because he was angry. His mouth formed a silent ‘O’ and Hermione was glad she’d asked the question.

“Damn!” He swore. “You three!” He pinned each of his conscious Aurors with a glare. “Not a word about this to anyone until I tell you. Is that understood?”

“Sir, yes Sir!” They all chorused.

“Oh, and could you please collect Mrs. Malfoy’s memory of the attack?” Kingsley fished around in the pocket of his robes and withdrew a small clear vial with a blank tag at-tached. “You know how to do that, don’t you?”

“Yes, sir.” Hermione nodded and took the proffered vial.

“Good.” Drawing in a deep breath, as though bracing himself for an assault, Kingsley finally turned to face Lucius Malfoy.

“I must, once again, offer my most humble and sincere apologies to you and your family, sir. I should have checked to make sure that my orders were being carried out properly. I….” he seemed to be at a loss for words. “I would like to offer you some compensation, but I’m afraid I don’t have the authority to do that at present. May I contact you in a cou-ple of days to discuss the matter further?” Lucius nodded. “Good. Oh…” Kingsley paused and looked embarrassed. “You mentioned that Auror McLaggen destroyed your property. Were you referring to this?” He waved a hand at the crater in the mantel behind him.

“Not exclusively, no.” Narcissa Malfoy had barely moved a muscle since the conversa-tion had begun and was, in Hermione’s eyes, the picture of aloof elegance. “Auror McLaggen took a perverse delight in ‘accidentally’ dropping small, fragile items we had around the house. I’ve saved the pieces, so we should be able to repair most of them.”

“And has anything gone missing?”

“Not to my knowledge.” Lucius replied. “However, Auror McLaggen undertook a very...thorough search of our rooms this morning. He seemed to delight in disturbing things as much as possible and until we put things to rights, we have no way of know-ing….”

“He took her…” Auror Prewett looked very young and very embarrassed. Hermione had the insane urge to hug the poor girl. “He took her unmentionables.” She finally blurted, waving her hand in Mrs. Malfoy’s general direction and giving Kingsley an anguished look. “I saw him stuff them in his pocket, but when I asked him about it, he told me he was collecting evidence and sent me to check on the location of all the family members.”

“We’ll discuss this back at the office.” Kingsley said, quietly. That was clearly a dismis-sal, for without another word, Auror Prewett withdrew a handful of Floo powder from a crystal bowl that had miraculously survived the blast unscathed and threw it into the fire-place. Once again, emerald flames burst into life.

“Ministry of Magic, DMLE.” She said, stepping into the flames quickly and vanishing.

“Please do not be to hard on her.” Narcissa’s words fell into the ensuing silence like snowflakes. “She was always courteous and professional in her behavior and should not be blamed for her superior’s behavior.”

“Behavior that she should have reported to me. I issued orders to all the Aurors assigned to monitor the Death….er….the people in your situation and she should have checked with me when Dawlish changed those orders.” Kingsley pointed out. “But….thank you. I will keep what you said in mind.” He stalked over to the sofa and roughly rummaged through McLaggen’s pockets. Their contents included a pair of lace knickers, which he wordlessly handed to a silent Narcissa Malfoy (who dropped them into her lap as if they were live coals), a silver Put-Outter that clearly had the Malfoy crest stamped on it, and a small bag that appeared to be empty. The bag was no bigger than Hermione’s palm and only remarkable thing about it was that it had a Gringotts crest on it. “Yours?” he asked, holding it up so Lucius could see it.

“I believe so.” Lucius growled. “May I?” He took the bag Kingsley offered him and opened it. Speaking directly into the mouth the bag, he said “Lucius Malfoy, one Galle-on.” The Gringotts crest glowed briefly and then Lucius pulled out a Galleon. “Mine. Auror McLaggen also confiscated our vault keys. I’m tempted to suggest that you let him keep them as I would find his reactions to the security protocols quite….entertaining.”

“I’m not finding any keys in here.” Kingsley frowned.

“He was using the small library as his office. No doubt they are there. If they are not, we can add that to the list f things we need to discuss.” Kingsley nodded and waved his wand over McLaggen.

“Ennervate!” With a start, McLaggen jumped as if he’d touched a live wire.

“Sir!” He said, spotting Kingsley. “Sir, I have to report an intrusion at the Malfoy resi-dence. One of their Death Eater friends attacked me….”

“McLaggen, look at her.” Kingsley’s voice was, as always, quite soft but there was a sharpness to it that reminded Hermione of a gleaming sword encased in a fine leather scabbard. “Do you know who that is?”

“That’s Hermione Granger, sir.” McLaggen blinked in confusion. “Everyone knows who she is. What’s she doing here?” Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione saw that Draco was waving to get her attention. Puzzled, she glanced at him and saw that he was wearing a malicious grin. He jerked his chin at McLaggen. Hermione had no idea what he was on about, but she suspected that he was about to get some measure of revenge and needed her assistance.

She was proven right when Draco suddenly spoke, in a patently false tone of surprise. “Hey Granger, know who his son is?”

“No.” Hermione shook her head, genuinely bewildered.

“You remember Cormac, don’t you?” Draco asked, the very picture of innocence. “He was in your House, wasn’t he?”

“Unfortunately.” Hermione grimaced. “I can see he inherited his brains from his father. I can’t remember…was Gryffindor playing Slytherin when Cormac accidentally knocked Harry unconscious with a Beater’s bat?”

Draco shook his head ruefully. “I couldn’t believe that anyone could be quite that stu-pid.”

“Rough game, Quidditch.” McLaggen muttered. “You got to expect to get hit some-times. A beater sometimes gets carried away…”

“Cormac was a chaser.” Hermione snapped. “And he and Harry were on the same team! Tell me, has Cormac recovered from the…er..injury he got just before Christmas his sev-enth year?” She stole a quick glance at Kingsley. After all, it wouldn’t do to push things too far in front of the Head of the DMLE. He caught her glance and smirked. Auror Holmes had lips pursed in an obvious attempt to stifle her laughter. The other Auror wasn’t even bothering to try.

“Here, how did you know about that?” McLaggen’s piggy eyes narrowed.

“Because I’m the one who injured him. I do hope he’s learned his lesson.” Draco snorted in surprise.

“That was you?” He chortled. “I’m impressed, Granger. Professor Snape was convinced one of us had done it because it was so…..subtle.” Hermione was astonished to see that Draco Malfoy was giving her a completely sincere grin.

“Yes, well, it wasn’t permanent and maybe next time he’ll remember to keep his hands to himself.” Every time she remembered his behavior at Slughorn’s Christmas party, any traces of guilt she felt at the impotence hex she’d cast on him vanished.

“Do you have any idea how much money it cost to get him put right?” McLaggen was practically frothing at the mouth. “You could have destroyed my family line, you stupid little Mud…”

“That’s enough.” Kingsley grabbed McLaggen’s arm and slapped a wide cuff on his wrist. “Let’s not disturb the Malfoys any longer. Holmes, take the lead and tell Miss Duthie to clear my calendar for the rest of the afternoon so I can deal with this mess. Jen-kins, you come after us.” The other Aurors nodded and the one called Holmes took a pouch of Floo powder from an inside pocket of her robes and threw a handful into the fire. Kingsley turned to McLaggen.

“Did you inform Mr. Malfoy about the deposition?”

“I did not.” McLaggen seemed oddly proud. “They deserve to rot in Azkaban for what they did! All of them!” Kingsley closed his eyes and Hermione got the impression of a volcano that was about to erupt.

“We will discuss this in my office, Mister McLaggen.” Auror Jenkins winced at the use of the word ‘Mister.’ Without another word, Kingsley grabbed McLaggen’s elbow and dragged him to the fireplace. They disappeared and were followed by Auror Sabey. In the sudden stillness that descended on the room, Hermione realized that she was alone in a room with the Malfoys. The scene was made even more bizarre when she realized that she was standing in a room that reminded her strongly of her grandmother’s house.

**

The silence was becoming uncomfortable. Lucius found himself at a loss for words. It appeared that Hermione Granger was in the same unusual position. Fortunately, Narcissa was an expert in such situations.

“Do sit down, Miss Granger. Would you like some tea?”

“Yes, thank you.” As the girl settled herself in his favorite armchair, Lucius took a mo-ment to examine her. He’d only seen Hermione Granger twice during her years at Hog-warts and he had a vague recollection of a little girl with bushy hair and buck teeth. The girl was gone, now, as were the overly large teeth (though the hair was still slightly ri-diculous). In her place was a woman who had clearly experienced a lot more of life than most people her age. The face was young and fresh, but the eyes….the eyes reminded Lucius of his wife’s eyes. Not in color, for where Narcissa’s eyes were ice-blue, Hermi-one Granger’s eyes were whiskey-brown, but in their expression. These were obviously eyes that had seen far too much. For a moment, he felt drawn to those eyes, but then he gave himself a mental shake.

The girl was wearing Muggle clothing. That, more than anything, reminded Lucius of exactly what his current position was. It galled him that he was being forced to suffer this girl—this nobody—who couldn’t even be bothered to dress properly. He would have to be polite, of course. Shacklebolt might be completely sincere in his regret over the nasti-ness with McLaggen, but Lucius was well aware that the man still considered him a crim-inal, as did just about every other witch and wizard in the British Isles. Hermione Granger was just as well known for being a hero. She was Harry bloody Potters bloody best friend and had more than held her own during the final battle.

It was obvious, he admitted to himself, that she had taken care with her appearance—the hair was pulled back from her face in a rather severe bun, though some of it had escaped and was floating around her face, and the shirt and skirt she wore were plain, but clearly well-made. None of that did anything to ease Lucius’ sense of wrongness. Wizards wore robes. That was the way things had always been and that was how they should stay. He wanted to rant at her and to demand an explanation for her lack of respect, but he didn’t dare and that only added to his anger and frustration. Still, it would be beyond foolish to do anything but tolerate her presence without complaint.

“Here you are, dear.” He blinked in surprise as Narcissa handed him a cup and saucer. He saw that Draco and the Granger girl were similarly equipped and that his wife’s underwear had vanished from where it had fallen in her lap. He had no doubt that she’d managed to banish them without either of the young people noticing. “Now, Miss Granger, as you heard, we have had no contact with the outside world in nearly two months. What news we got before that was….well, I cannot vouch for its accuracy. Minister Shacklebolt indi-cated that you might be able to apprise us of recent events?”

“Well,” Granger took a sip of her tea, obviously collecting her thoughts. “To start with, Kingsley Shacklebolt isn’t Minister of Magic anymore.

“Who is?” Lucius felt the first faint stirrings of hope flare up in his chest. If the Wiz-engamot elected someone who was friendly, or at least amenable to persuasion…

“There isn’t one.” Lucius felt the brief spark die out. “At the beginning of June, Kingsley stepped down and handed control of the Ministry to a Council consisting of representa-tives from the Ministry, the ICW and the Britain’s non-magical government.”

“Muggles?” Draco nearly spit out his tea. “We’re being ruled by Muggles?”

“The magical peoples of Great Britain and her dominions have always been subject to the non-magical government.” Granger replied. “Just because wizards have chosen to ignore that fact for several hundred years doesn’t make it any less true.” Lucius hated to admit it, but she was correct.

“So….this Council is in charge now?” Narcissa asked, shooting a glare at their son.

“For the time being, yes. They will run things until the Wizengamot can be called and a new Minister of Magic elected. The Council has appointed Kingsley to be the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, though his appointment will have to be confirmed by the new Minister, once he or she is elected.”

“I see.” Narcissa took a sip of her tea. Lucius sat back and let her steer the conversation while he tried to get his emotions under control. “And when might we expect the Wiz-engamot to reconvene?”

“It will be at least a year, I’m afraid.” Lucius was surprised to see that Granger looked genuinely put out by this fact. “There are several Wizengamot seats that will need to be reassigned and no one can agree on how to do it. Furthermore, a number of seats are now held by minors or by people who do not have the background or the training to know what to do with them.”

“Like Potter, you mean?” Draco asked, sneering.

“Yes, Harry does have a family seat.” Granger replied. “But he’s not the only one. Ne-ville Longbottom and Susan Bones now hold Wizengamot seats and I’m sure there are others. Oh…” She flushed slightly and gave Lucius a quick glance. “I’m afraid you won’t be able to take your family seat, nor will Draco. The Council has issued a decree that bans those bearing the Dark Mark from sitting on the Wizengamot or serving in the Ministry. You won’t lose your family seat, though.” She added, hastily. “Depending on circumstances, you may be allowed to appoint someone to be your proxy until Draco’s heir comes of age.” Lucius sighed. He had expected as much, though it was still diffi-cult to hear. Granger wasn’t done yet, however.

“The other reason it is going to take a while to reconvene the Wizengamot is that the Council and the DMLE are instituting a….well, I guess you’d say it’s a vetting process. After the war, the DMLE learned that a number of Wizengamot members had been sub-ject to….er…undue influence and they want to make sure that everyone who casts votes in the new Wizengamot is doing so freely and of their own accord.” Clearly, the girl was referring to the bribery, extortion and blackmail that had run rampant throughout the Wiz-engamot for several decades, though she at least had the tact not to glance at Lucius as she said this.

“Oh dear.” Narcissa sighed. “You mean we’ll have to wait a year or more for the trials?”

“That depends on you. You have some decisions to make and I’m here to discuss them with you.” Granger picked up a satchel Lucius hadn’t noticed before and began rummag-ing through it until she pulled out a sheaf of parchments. “The Ministry and Council want to avoid trials, if at all possible. As I said, it will be at least a year before the Wiz-engamot can reconvene and, besides, since the Dementors are gone, Azkaban is rather use-less…”

“Wait, what do you mean the Dementors are gone?” Draco looked around wildly, as if expecting a Dementor to pop up in the middle of the sitting room.

“Someone in the Department of Mysteries figured out how to kill the buggers.” Granger was positively cackling with glee. Lucius found the sight rather disquieting. “Three weeks ago, the Dementors were rounded up and destroyed. I don’t know how, exactly—I wasn’t there—but Croaker swore oaths to both the Council and the Queen that there is not a single Dementor left alive in the British Isles.

“But how…?”

“Draco, dear. That really isn’t the point right now, is it?” Narcissa interjected, saving Lucius from saying something rather uncivil to his son. “Please continue, Miss Granger.”

“Oh, right.” The girl was blushing now. Lucius wondered if she was aware of just how plainly her face expressed her emotions. “Anyway, the Dementors are gone and the DMLE does not currently possess the staff or the resources to re-open Azkaban. The Council has, therefore, been forced to come up with alternative ways of dealing with peo-ple accused of criminal activity.” She paused and began flicking through the sheaf of parchment on her lap. Extracting three sheets, she stood and handed one to each member of the Malfoy family. “Please take a minute to read through these carefully.”

Looking down, Lucius saw that she had handed him a list of the charges that were being laid against him. Next to each, was a note outlining the evidence the DMLE had collected supporting their claims. It was clear that they were only charging him with crimes that could be proved and Lucius fell his stomach drop as he realized that there was no way he could contest even the most minor charge—the DMLE had made sure of that. He was certain that, this time, there was no way anyone would believe that he’d been acting under the Imperius curse. Casting a quick glance at Narcissa, he saw that her list was shorter, but equally well annotated and he had no doubt that Draco’s list was the same. When he finally looked at Granger, he was surprised to see that her eyes held neither rancor nor tri-umph.

“Well?” His voice was harsh and he chided himself for allowing his anger and frustration to burst forth like that. If she noticed it, Granger chose to ignore it—Lucius couldn’t de-cide which was worse.

“If you wish to contest any of these charges, please tell me now.” She said, all business. Lucius wanted to scream at her—to curse her until he had no breath with which to shout and to hex her until there was nothing left of the girl but a small pile of ash. Doing so, he knew, would be futile and would only be another nail in his coffin, but the urge was there, nonetheless. “You will stand trial before the Wizengamot and, if found guilty, you will be subject to whatever punishment they deem fit. As I said, it will be at least a year be-fore the Wizengamot reconvenes, so the DMLE will assign an Auror to serve as your guardian until such time as you are convicted or cleared.”

“And….” Lucius had to clear his throat several times. “And if we choose not to contest any of these charges?” To his surprise, Granger beamed at him.

“Tell me, Mr. Malfoy, are you familiar with the old custom of Parole?”

“Parole?” Lucius nearly dropped his teacup. “They’re bringing back Parole?”

“What’s Parole?” Draco asked.

“The Parole system was the official method of punishment used in Wizarding society be-fore Azkaban was built. That is the basis of what we’re using now, though the DMLE has made several significant changes.” Granger explained. “If you decide not to risk a trial, you will sign a contract with a Sponsor who will, for all intents and purposes, be your Head of House in every way—legal, financial, and magical.” She reached into her bag again and pulled out a thick sheaf of parchment tied with a ribbon and sealed with wax. “Here is a detailed description of how the system will work, but I’ll give you a quick summary now. Each Parolee will sign a contract with a Sponsor, though as the Head of House Malfoy, Mr. Malfoy can sign one contract on behalf of the entire family. The con-tract is magically binding and gives your sponsor control over almost all aspects of your lives because your sponsor will then bear the responsibility for your maintenance and fu-ture good behavior.”

“And if we agree to this, then what?” Narcissa asked, quietly.

“Once a Parole contract is signed, the DMLE will register pleas of ‘Nolo Contendere’ for all the charges filed against you and your records will be sealed. You will be free to live your lives as before, provided you do not stray from the guidelines outlined in your con-tract.”

“And who would be our sponsor?” Lucius asked, hesitantly, being careful not to let the girl see the relief and elation he felt. He’d spent the past two months preparing himself for the Dementor’s Kiss or, at the very least, a lifetime in Azkaban. Never, in his wildest dreams, had he thought he might get out of this mess with such a comparatively light pun-ishment.

Granger suddenly looked rather uncomfortable. “Before I say more, I need you to decide whether you are going to contest any of the charges.” Lucius looked at his wife and saw that she agreed with him completely. Narcissa leaned towards Draco and the two held a whispered conversation. Lucius had to suppress a groan of irritation. Clearly, Draco wanted to argue, but it should have been evident—even to him—that there was no way he would be found anything other than guilty and, as restrictive as the Parole was likely to be, it was far better than prison or whatever the DMLE came up with to replace the De-mentor’s Kiss. Finally, he looked at his father and nodded, reluctantly. Lucius let out the breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

“We ill not contest the charges.” He said. Granger also appeared to have been holding her breath, for she sighed noisily, then pulled a rather battered self-inking quill out of her bag.

“Will you please sign the bottom of the parchments affirming that you agree to all the charges listed?” She handed the quill to Lucius, who swiftly did as instructed, then hand-ed the quill to his wife. Once all three had affixed their names to the parchment, Granger collected them and carefully put them back in her bag. Sitting back in her chair, she re-garded them all.

“The next thing you need to decide is if you’re each going to sign individual Parole con-tracts or if you’re going to sign one as a family.”

“What is the difference?” Lucius asked, genuinely curious.

“The difference is that if you decide to sign individual contracts, you will each have a dif-ferent sponsor.” Granger leaned forward intently. “Since so many of Riddle’s followers were members of the Wizengamot, the Council has decided that potential sponsors can only accept one Parole contract. That way, no one can use this system to gain an unfair number of Wizengamot votes.”

“That makes an unusual amount of sense.” Narcissa murmured. “I can think of more than a few people who would certainly wish to use this situation to their advantage.”

“If I recall the old customs correctly, sponsors were permitted to dictate where their charges could live and with whom they could associate.” Lucius interjected, his breath catching at the implications of what he was being told.

“That’s right.” Granger nodded slowly. “If you and your wife were assigned to different sponsors, for example, there is every possibility that one or both of them could demand that you divorce and marry other people.” Narcissa gasped and looked at Lucius, her eyes filled with fear.

“We will sign one contract.” Lucius declared, his tone brooking no argument. He was glad to see that Draco was nodding in agreement. “We are a family and we will remain together.”

“Very well.” Again, Granger seemed oddly relieved. “Your sponsor….well, you have a choice here as well. Given the number and nature of the crimes with which you are charged, the Council has determined that your Parole will remain in effect for the remain-der of your lives. Over the past month, they have solicited sponsorship offers for all those participating in the Parole program and all potential sponsors have been duly vetted. Two offers came in for the Malfoy family. Given the length of the sentence, the Council will allow you to choose the sponsor you prefer.”

“From whom do the offers come?” Narcissa asked.

“Only two?” Draco said at the same time, sounding outraged. Before he could stop him-self, Lucius rolled his eyes. Too late, he saw that Granger had been looking at him and was biting her lip to keep from laughing.

“One offer came from Edmund Parkinson.” Granger said, pulling out yet more parchment. “Here are his terms…”

“No.” Lucius said, flatly. He didn’t care if the other option was Arthur Bloody Weasley. He was not about to allow Parkinson to have that much control over his life and his fami-ly. “Who made the other offer?” Granger held his gaze with her own.

“I did.”

**

Narcissa had to work to keep from laughing at the shocked expression on her husband’s face. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Draco open his mouth to speak and put a hand on his arm to restrain him. She would really have to have words him later about his ten-dency to react without thinking.

“You?” Lucius spluttered and Narcissa offered a silent prayer to the gods that he wasn’t about to say something incredibly stupid. “But….why?”

“I have my reasons.” Narcissa was somewhat surprised to see that there was no malice in the girl’s eyes and that her response hadn’t been flippant or made with malicious intent. “The most important one right now is that I need your help. We’ve found Odessa Lean-der’s library.” Narcissa did laugh then as Lucius’ teacup slid from his fingers. His face, which until now had worn his usual mask of aristocratic boredom, lit up like a child buy-ing his first wand at Ollivander’s.

As she watched her husband’s rather feeble attempts to collect his wits, Narcissa felt a surge of admiration for the young witch sitting across from her. With one simple sen-tence, Hermione Granger had managed to turn Lucius’ displeasure at having to sign away his life to a virtual stranger—and a Muggleborn at that—into downright eagerness. Nar-cissa knew that Lucius would move mountains to get his hands on what was in that li-brary—catering to the whims of a girl barely out of school would be child’s play.

“You found it? Where? When?” Narcissa had the urge to tell her husband to stop pant-ing, but decided that such teasing would not be taken well at this time.

“Three weeks ago. The door is directly across the hall from the entrance to the Hufflepuff dorms.” Hermione Granger was clearly as excited about the discovery as Lucius. Narcis-sa filed that away for further consideration.

“Across from the….blast! I was convinced it was in Ravenclaw Tower. I got detention for a month for trying to sneak in there my fifth year.”

“I actually thought it was hidden somewhere behind the present library. I almost got thrown out when Madame Pince caught me banging on the walls to see if they were hol-low. But Leander was a Hufflepuff, so it makes sense she’d put the library near her old dorms…”

“Would one of you please tell us what you’re talking about?” Draco looked half-amused, half-disgusted.

“Odessa Leander was Headmistress at Hogwarts from 1621 to 1684.” Lucius explained. Draco’s eyes glazed over almost immediately, but Narcissa watched her husband avidly. “She was a remarkable woman, really. She’s credited with revolutionizing the Hogwarts curriculum and it’s believed that she invented several charms…”

“The library, dear?” As much as Narcissa loved listening to her husband lecture about history, he did have a distressing habit of haring off on tangents.

“Sorry, my love. Headmistress Leander died while the school was still under quarantine due to the Banshee Blight. When the school was finally reopened to the public, it was discovered that she had removed nearly every book then in the Hogwarts library. Rumor had it that she’d hidden them somewhere in the castle, though no one knew where or why. People have been looking for her library for centuries. Are you sure it’s hers?” His ex-planation done, Lucius turned back to their visitor.

“Positive. One of the first things we found was one of her notebooks. The library is huge. Madam Pince is still working on a catalog, but when I spoke to her last night, she told me that there at least twice as many books in there as there are in the regular library. For reasons I can’t really discuss now, access to the library is limited to a handful of peo-ple. As I am one of the few allowed access, I have been asked to undertake several re-search projects, but I have other duties and obligations that will take up a good deal of my time. Therefore, I need help to get them all done.”

“But why me?” Lucius asked, his voice shaking slightly. “Surely, there are plenty of witches and wizards who would pay to be your assistant…”

“None that know the first thing about how to do proper research.” The expression on the girl’s face bore a striking resemblance to the one Lucius wore whenever he tried to read a book on the History of Magic that was written by a British author. “It’s appalling the way most witches and wizards just accept what they’re told without making even the slightest effort to research things for themselves.”

“Too true.” Lucius snorted. “Very well. I will accept your offer of sponsorship.” Nar-cissa noted that Miss Granger looked very relieved and wondered what the young woman would have done had Lucius chosen to accept Edmund Parkinson’s offer instead. She also wondered what the girl’s other reasons were for making her offer. While she com-pletely agreed with her husband’s decision to reject Parkinson’s offer sight unseen, she wondered if he might come to regret accepting Miss Granger’s so readily. Draco’s mouth fell open in shock, but she shot him a warning look and he closed it with a snap. “You have the contract with you?” Lucius took the scroll that the girl offered and began to read through it. Narcissa noted that Miss Granger’s document seemed to be rather shorter than Edmund Parkinson’s. It only took Lucius a few moments to read through the whole thing.

“You drew this up yourself?” he asked Miss Granger as he handed the scroll to Narcissa. She opened it and skimmed its contents. She was pleasantly surprised to see that the terms under which they were to live were not excessively harsh. They were to be permit-ted to remain at the Manor and while Miss Granger retained the right to examine their fi-nancial records, she did not request access to the vaults. She expected Lucius to work un-der her direct supervision and Narcissa found herself marveling, once again, just how cleverly the girl had played her hand. Miss Granger would, of course, have to approve any contracts the family signed, but that was to be expected. Really, it seemed as though she had no interest in punishing the family beyond the strictures placed on them by the Ministry and, for that, Narcissa was deeply grateful.

“I had them drawn up by Willis Clearwater.” Miss Granger looked somewhat anxious. “I was told he is very good.”

“Whoever told you that probably had nothing with which to compare him.” Lucius mut-tered. “However, he has sufficient skill to draw up this contract. Everything seems to be in order, so if you will hand me that quill…” The instrument was duly passed over and Narcissa watched as her husband signed their lives into the hands of a nineteen-year old girl. He handed the parchment to Miss Granger, who carefully set it on the table signed it herself, then tapped it with her wand, whispering something Narcissa couldn’t quite hear. The two names began to glow, then to pulse. A beam of bright, white light erupted from the parchment and quickly separated itself into four strands.

“What….?” Draco shrank back in fear.

“Do not move!” Lucius snapped. “It is merely the magic of the contract. Do not attempt to fight it.” Each strand of light slowly moved towards one of the room’s occupants. Lu-cius held out his right hand and the others followed suit, though Narcissa had to nudge Draco before he would comply. The strands of light wound themselves around each out-stretched wrist. There was no pain or pressure, merely the sensation of warmth. The light strands gave one more pulse, then faded.

Narcissa watched as Granger drew in a deep, shaky breath. “I’ve never….that’s never happened before.” She said, finally.

“It is standard for all magically binding contracts.” Lucius shrugged. “I imagine some-thing similar happened with that ridiculous Goblet of Fire….”

“It didn’t.” Draco said, abruptly. “I remember wondering about that….Professor Snape said that Dumbledore insisted that Potter had to compete in the tournament because the contract with the cup was magically binding.”

“Either Severus misheard or Dumbledore lied to him.” Lucius said.

“Most likely, Dumbledore lied.” There was a certain hardness to Miss Granger’s voice as she spoke and it was clear that she did not wish to pursue the matter further. Fortunately, Lucius appeared to have gotten that message, for he sat back and eyed her carefully.

“When do you wish me to begin work?”

“You’ll need to give your depositions first.” As Granger spoke, she began putting papers back into her bag. Narcissa itched to do something with the girl’s hair, which was escap-ing the clip she’d put in it so quickly that there would soon be more hair out of it than in it, but she didn’t dare suggest anything. Hermione Granger was being the very soul of courtesy right now, but the contract was signed and there was no way of knowing how she would tolerate criticism, especially on such slim acquaintance.

“Depositions?” Draco asked. “Shacklebolt said something about that….”

“The Council is requiring that all those who played major roles in the war come in and give depositions about their experiences.” Granger explained. Leaning forward, she tapped the sheaf of parchment that still bore the unbroken wax seal with the Ministry’s imprint. “It’s all explained in here. Mr. Malfoy, your deposition is scheduled to begin tomorrow morning at nine o’clock at the Ministry. Oh, and don't worry. Since you have signed a Parole contract, nothing you say can be used against you later. I’ll have to come here and fetch you, I’m afraid. Parolees are not allowed to enter the Ministry building unless escorted by their sponsor or a designated proxy.”

“That seems rather excessive. I thought that we were be treated as any other citizen, pro-vided we do not stray from the terms of our contract.” Lucius drawled, sitting back in his seat and eyeing the girl coldly. Apparently, the brief spark of warmth he’d felt towards her when she’d told him about the library had worn off.

“I agree.” Granger shrugged. “However, some compromises had to be made and this was one of them. Once your deposition is finished and you’ve recovered from the experience, let me know and we can make arrangements to meet. Oh, and Draco? The Council would like you to give a deposition as well, though I don’t think it’s been scheduled yet.”

“I…” Draco opened his mouth, but Narcissa cut in before he could make say anything.

“He’ll be glad to cooperate with the Council, of course.” She said.

“Wonderful.” Granger was studiously avoiding looking at Draco and Narcissa suspected that the girl was more than aware of her son’s displeasure with the current situation.

“Do they use Veritaserum during these depositions?” Narcissa asked. Despite the assur-ances that this interview would not be used to prosecute or persecute them further, she worried about what might happen if Lucius revealed some of the more sordid details of his work for the Dark Lord.

“No, it doesn’t last nearly long enough. The Council has borrowed a goblin device that works almost as well. You can choose not to answer a question, but you will not be able to tell lies.”

“Will you be attending the interview?” Lucius asked, clearly rather resenting the notion.

“As your sponsor, I do have the right to do so, but I won’t. I know from personal experi-ence that it is a very….intense experience and I have no wish to violate anyone’s privacy.”

“Thank you.” Lucius bowed his head slightly. “That is very generous of you.”

“When you’re ready to start work, you can Floo-call me at The Eyrie.”

“You said that some recovery time might be required?” Narcissa asked, anxiously. Granger nodded.

“As I said, it’s a very intense experience. Mine lasted three days and I fell into bed ex-hausted every night, even though I’d just been sitting there, talking, all day!”

“Three days?” Lucius arched an eyebrow in surprise. “Should I expect mine to take so long?”

“Longer, perhaps.” Granger gave another little shrug. “There’s no way of knowing, real-ly, but you are the first member of Riddle’s inner circle they will be interviewing, so I suspect they will want to go over a lot of things.”

“I see.” Lucius spoke slowly, as if he was feeling his way through a dark room that was littered with traps. “I will, of course, comply with the Council’s wishes, but I do have a question. It concerns the time you spent here just before the final battle.” There was an awkward pause as they all did their best to avoid looking at one another. “I….ah….do not wish to cause you any undue embarrassment or discomfort by sharing details that you would rather keep private…”

“The interviewers have seen my scars.” Miss Granger interrupted. “I explained that Bel-latrix was the one who gave them to me and they did not ask any more questions about the matter. I doubt they’ll mention the incident to you.”

“Very well.” Lucius nodded.

“That does remind me….” Granger looked thoughtful. “Everyone will find out about the Parole agreements soon enough. The Council and certain Ministry officials—like Direc-tor Shacklebolt—will know that I’m your sponsor, but I would prefer that information not go further at the moment.”

“I understand.” Lucius nodded. “If someone should ask…?”

“If anyone asks, then they clearly don’t know already and don’t need to be told.” Granger said, shortly. Narcissa saw a spark in her husband’s eyes and wondered if he was re-evaluating the girl the way she had been throughout this entire meeting.

Granger checked her watch and stood. Picking up her bag, she said “I’m afraid I must be going. I have a meeting at Gringotts in twenty minutes. Oh! I almost forgot…” She withdrew the small glass vial that Kingsley had given her from her pocket and offered it to Narcissa. “Please place your memory of the events that transpired during and immedi-ately after my arrival into this vial.” Narcissa held her wand-tip to her temple, concentrat-ed on the requested memory and pulled her wand away, bringing a long, silver strand with it. This was deposited in the vial, which she handed back to Hermione. The girl used her wand to seal the vial and placed it carefully in her pocket. “Thank you.” Lucius and Nar-cissa both stood, though Draco remained in his seat. To Narcissa’s surprise, Lucius even offered their new sponsor a slight bow.

“Until tomorrow….”

Granger paused with her hand hovering over the bowl of Floo powder that had rested, un-touched, on the mantel for two months, and turned to Draco. “Are you planning on taking your NEWTs?”

“What?” Draco looked startled. “I…hadn’t really thought about it. Why?”

“Professor McGonagall will be opening Hogwarts in January for anyone who wants to take the tests next summer. She sent out letters about it last week. Since you haven’t been receiving your mail, I thought you’d like to know.”

“I….er….thanks.” With a nod, Granger took some of the powder and disappeared in a swirl of emerald flame.

**

July 2, 1998

Mandragon’s Cafe

Hermione arrived for her lunch date with Blaise about ten minutes early. As he had prom-ised, Mandragon’s was not hard t spot – not only was there outdoor seating, but someone had carved a large stone dragon and perched it over the entrance. That same someone had also enchanted the creature’s eyes so that they followed passers by. The effect was, in Hermione’s opinion, rather creepy.

Looking at her watch, Hermione offered up a silent prayer that Blaise was a bit more punctual to this meeting than was his usual habit. Her morning had been frantically busy and her afternoon promised to be even busier. After escorting Lucius Malfoy to his depo-sition and ensuring that he was issued a day pass permitting him to be on Ministry prem-ises even if she wasn’t there, she had spent several rather frustrating hours in meetings with various Council members. In two hours, she had to be in Muggle London for a meet-ing with the Prime Minister.

Blaise wasn’t sitting at any of the outdoor tables, so Hermione stepped into the dimly lit interior of the restaurant. Even if he hadn’t yet arrived, she figured that she could bespeak an outside table for them and get herself a cup of tea to tide her over until his arrival. She was accosted almost as soon as she was through the door.

“Hermione!” She bit back an exclamation. Blaise Zabini had always been fanatical about his appearance. In the time she’d known him—over five years now—she’d never seen him with so much as a hair out of place. Now, however, he was a mess. His dark hair, which he usually wore in a style that was perilously close to a pompadour, was wild and tangled, there were dark circles under his eyes, and his clothes looked like he’d slept in them. “Thank Merlin….” Blaise sounded almost frantic as he grabbed her elbow and dragged her towards a booth at the back of the restaurant. “Please tell me you’ve found a job for me…please. I’ll do anything…”

“Blaise, slow down!” She gently extracted her arm from his grasp and slid into the booth. He threw himself into onto the bench opposite her. “There is a job for you if you want it, but what happened?”

“Oh, it’s all a mess.” He moaned. “Daphne and her sister got kicked out of their apart-ment and had to spend last night at the Leaky Cauldron, my father is threatening to dis-own me if I don’t go to Malta and marry my cousin Martina…”

“Wait!” Hermione held up a hand. “Breathe. Pull yourself together. After we order, I’ll put up some privacy charms and you can tell me what’s going on.” Blaise nodded and al-lowed Hermione to order tea and sandwiches for both of them. When their food had ar-rived, Hermione cast a standard privacy charm as well as Muffliato. The café was nearly empty, so she decided that more stringent measures were not required. “Now talk.” She ordered.

“Right.” Blaise sighed. He had calmed down a good deal and didn’t look so frantic. Hermione took that as a good sign. “I suppose I should start with Daphne’s parents. You know they died in March, right?”

“No.” Hermione blinked. “I didn’t know. Were they…”

“Death Eaters? Her father was. I don’t know about her mother. From what I’ve been able to put together, Daphne’s dad was in charge of that raid on St. Mungo’s. The one where the Death Eaters portkeyed into a room full of Aurors?” Hermione hadn’t heard about that incident but decided not to press him for details just now. “Anyway, it seems the Dark Dork was rather annoyed at having to break some of his devoted followers out of Ministry holding cells and took out his anger on Daphne’s mother. She died. When the Death Eaters finally managed to break out of Auror custody, Mr. Greengrass found out what happened. He went out of his mind with grief and he attacked Riddle.”

“So Riddle killed him too.” This was a statement and not a question.

“Yeah. It was only then that Daphne found out that Riddle made everyone carrying the Dark Mark sign a will leaving everything to him.”

“I know about those.” Hermione sighed. “Poor Daphne.” She didn’t really know much about the girl—while at school, Daphne had always run with the pack of Slytherins led by Draco Malfoy and Pansy Parkinson. To her credit, Hermione couldn’t remember the girl ever tormenting her the way the others had, but beyond that, everything she knew about Daphne Greengrass came from Blaise.

“Yeah.” Blaise nodded, looking absolutely miserable. “I went with Daphne to meet with the goblins after the Final Battle. The will was all nice and legal, so Gringotts had no choice but to honor it.”

“Daphne got nothing?” Hermione stared at him, her eyes narrowing in suspicion. “Not even the stuff entailed to the Greengrass estate? The goblins actually told her that?”

“Yes. What makes it worse is that she’s got a little sister, Astoria. You wouldn’t have met her—she started at Hogwarts last year. If Daphne was on her own, she could proba-bly get an Apprenticeship somewhere, but no Master will take on an Apprentice who has a child dependent on him or her and, besides, the money for Astoria’s Hogwarts fees has to come from somewhere.” Hermione bit back the rant about the stupidity of the Wizard-ing world’s employment and education systems and simply listened. “Thankfully, Daph-ne and Astoria were both at school when their parents died. Riddle ordered the Carrows to send the girls to him, but Snape got wind of it and he and I managed to hide them with Longbottom’s crowd.” Hermione’s mouth fell open. She’d heard rumors that Neville had sheltered the children of several Death Eaters in the Room of Requirement, but this was the first time she’d heard that Blaise was involved or that Snape had known about it. “Anyway, after the battle, Daphne and Astoria had nothing but their Hogwarts trunks and what little money they had with them. Daph managed to get a job as an apothecary’s as-sistant on the Alley and I was helping out when I could. My father isn’t paying me much, but I managed to get a few Galleons to her every week. Like an idiot, I believed that eve-rything would come out right eventually. Daphne’s boss really liked her and he’d even offered to pay Astoria’s Hogwarts tuition next year…”

“So what happened?”

“My father got wind of what was going on.” Blaise scowled. “He’s furious!”

“But…” Hermione was puzzled. “I thought he liked Daphne. You told me that he had agreed to the two of you getting married after Hogwarts.”

Blaise sighed. “He did and you don’t know how much I wish we’d managed to persuade our parents to sign a betrothal contract during our fourth year. But Daphne’s mother in-sisted on waiting until she turned seventeen before we made anything official. That was before Riddle and the war, of course. Back then, Daphne was the daughter of a well-respected pure-blood family who stood to inherit a lot of money. Now, she’s the or-phaned daughter of criminals without a penny to her name and my father wants nothing to do with her.”

“That’s awful!” Hermione could feel her indignation rising again.

“Isn’t it?” Blaise looked absolutely miserable. “After the war, he told me that there wasn’t going to be a contract, but I managed to convince him not to make any sort of pub-lic declaration. He wouldn’t help Daphne and Astoria at all, but he didn’t do anything to make their lives harder either. People thought there was an understanding between us, so they didn’t harass her and Father seemed to be willing to let things stand. But yester-day…After I got back from the Ministry, Father called me into his office and told me, in no uncertain terms, that I am to break off all contact with Daphne. What’s worse, he talked to her boss and made it clear that Zabini Imports will not do business with some-one who employs traitors, so Daphne’s lost her job and now it’s all over the Alley that Father won’t have anything to do with anyone who helps her. She and Astoria have been living in the flat over Fortescue’s and the new owner chucked them out. They waited out-side my office last night and I gave Daphne what money I had, but that will only last a few days….”

“And what do Malta and your cousin Martina have to do with anything?”

“Father informed me that he is negotiating a betrothal contract between me and my cousin Martina. Once the contract is signed, he’s shipping me off to Malta to work with my cousin Dario. He’s determined to keep me as far away from Daphne as possible and he said that if I refuse to go to Malta or marry Martina, he’ll disown me.”

“Oh Blaise…” Hermione was silent for a minute as she pushed the food around her plate. Over the past few months, she’d come to understand how little she really knew about the wizarding world. She spoke carefully. “In the non-magical world, when some-one is disowned, that usually means they’re cut off financially from their family. It’s dif-ferent here, isn’t it?”

“Disowning a family member is….” Blaise took a deep breath. “It’s just about the worst thing a witch or wizard can do to a member of his or her family, short of actually killing them of course. There’s the money, of course, but more than that, there’s a….oh, I guess you’d say there’s the political side of things. Disowning someone is like….well, it’s like making a very public declaration that someone is not and has never been part of your fam-ily. Though it’s never stated outright, the implication is that the disowned person is an enemy of your House. You can’t do it quietly—they publish notices in the Prophet and an announcement is made in the Wizengamot so everyone knows about it. Anyone who associates with the disowned person after that—gives them a job, say, or a place to live—risks being targeted by that person’s former family. My father is a very powerful man, Hermione, and he has business contacts all over the world. If he disowns me, I’m not sure I’ll be able to get a job anywhere or a place to live, for that matter. If I was to lie dying in the middle of the street, people would walk around me just in case my father found out they’d acknowledged my existence. The only hope I’d have is if there’s someone who is willing to stand up to him and offer me the protection of their House.”

“Hm.” Hermione frowned. “Sirius Black’s mother disowned him and I don’t remember him saying anything about having those kinds of problems.”

“Sirius Black was never officially disowned—not in the true sense of the word.” Blaise explained. “His mother wasn’t Head of the family, so all she could really do was cut him out of her will. Everyone knew and understood the difference at the time.”

“And what about this thing with Daphne? Are people really so scared of your father that they’d just fire her and chuck her out of her flat on his say-so?”

“Yes.” Blaise looked furious. “He’s as big a bully as Lucius Malfoy ever was and there’s no one who has enough money or political clout to stand up to him—well, maybe Ed-mund Parkinson, but he and my father are thick as thieves. What’s worse is that now eve-ryone knows that he won’t protect Daphne. She’s safe at the Leaky Cauldron, but what happens when the money runs out? You saw the way the boys looked at her at Hog-warts…well, their fathers look at her the same way.” Hermione shuddered.

“Right.” Hermione sighed. “Give me a minute to think this through.” She sat back and sipped her tea, while she watched Blaise tear into his sandwich. It was clear that this was the first meal he’d eaten today and, while his table manners were infinitely better, Blaise Zabini’s appetite was an even match for Ronald Weasley on the best of days.

“Blaise, how certain are you that your father will disown you if you don’t do what he says?” She asked slowly.

“Positive.” Blaise swallowed the bite he’d just taken and washed it down with a swig of tea. “He’s been looking for an excuse ever since Mother died.” Hermione’s mouth fell open in shock and he continued, grimly. “Most people don’t know this, but my father got the money to start his business from my mother’s father, Priam Clearwater. Old Priam was a pretty shrewd judge of character and he recognized that my father was going to be a success, but that he wasn’t going to bother about trivialities like laws and human decency. When he negotiated their marriage contract, Grandfather made Father agree to a very gen-erous settlement for my mother and he also slipped in a clause stating that, should my mother die first, the settlement was to come to their eldest child on his or her twenty first birthday.”

“And your father doesn’t want to pay the settlement.” Hermione nodded in understand-ing.

“He can’t.” Blaise replied, coldly. “Unfortunately, Grandfather Clearwater died shortly after I got my Hogwarts letter. He divided his estate among his grandchildren. I was a minor and couldn’t inherit, of course, so my portion went into a trust fund with my moth-er as trustee. Then she died at the end of our fifth year.” Blaise paused and took a deep breath. “Her body was barely in the ground when Father took all the money from my trust and the money set aside for Mother’s settlement and used it to purchase our family seat in the Wizengamot and to finance a major expansion to his business.”

“That’s awful!” Hermione had her hand pressed to her mouth. “Surely your mother and grandfather had lawyers looking out for your best interest….”

“They did.” Blaise nodded. “I can’t decide whether Father paid them to look the other way or whether they were simply lazy and incompetent. It doesn’t really matter now. The point is that on the day I turn twenty one, Father has to hand over both the settlement and the trust fund. The betrothal contract and the will were both magically binding, so if he doesn’t, then he’ll lose his magic, if he’s lucky.”

“But there’s a loophole.” Hermione said, quietly. It was not hard to see where Blaise’s tale was leading.

“There’s a loophole.” Blaise agreed. “If I’m disowned before my twenty first birthday, any clauses pertaining to me in the betrothal contract and the will are automatically ren-dered moot.”

“But….then what about this Malta business? Would your father really be negotiating a marriage contract for you if he intended to disown you?” Hermione furrowed her brow in confusion.

“As best I can figure, my father expects me to refuse.” Blaise sighed. “That gives him a legitimate excuse to disown me. If I agree?” He shrugged. “My best guess is that my cousin Martina would be given fertility potions in the hopes that she would conceive as soon as possible. Once the child was born, I would have a ‘tragic accident’ and Father would have another twenty one years to do as h likes before my heir is due to inherit.” Hermione stifled the new swell of outrage and tried to think clearly.

“You aid your father needs a legitimate reason to disown you.” She said. “I take it that it means he has to justify his actions to someone?”

“The goblins at Gringotts.” Blaise nodded. “There will be a hearing and I’ll be given a chance to defend myself. But Father will just bribe the goblins or he’ll pay some thugs to keep me away from the hearing.” Hermione’s eyes narrowed.

“Like hell he will.” She muttered. Drawing in a deep breath, she caught Blaise’s gaze with her own. “What would happen if you were to….disown him first?” she asked, slow-ly. Blaise blinked at her in confusion.

“Come again?”

“Instead of waiting for him to disown you, what if you renounced your position as Heir of House Zabini and accepted the protection of another House?” she asked, leaning forward intently. “Right here….right now? What would happen?” Blaise’s jaw fell open in shock before he remembered himself and closed it with a snap. Hermione was relieved to see that some of the panic had left his eyes and he seemed to be thinking her question through, examining it from every angle.

“Well….” He said, finally, “That’s a thought. If there was someone willing to take me into their House, I could….I could tell people what he’s done…to me, to Daphne, to my mother….I could tell them everything and there would be nothing he could do to stop me. It might even help with the hearing..” His eyes lit in anticipation. “If I knew I had somewhere to go, I could march into Grandfather’s lawyer’s offices right now and raise such a ruckus….” As soon as the light had come into his face, it died. “But it won’t work, Hermione. None of the Houses would ever agree to such a thing. They’d all be too afraid that, someday, one of their kids might try the same thing with them.”

Hermione gave him an almost feral grin. “Blaise, if you want to do this right now, I can offer you the protection of three Houses.”

“Three?” Blaise dropped his sandwich in surprise.

“Three.” Hermione nodded. “The Ancient and Most Noble House of Black and the An-cient and Most Noble House of Potter would be pleased to offer you shelter and protec-tion. Although…” she paused for dramatic effect. “you might want to consider the offer put forth by the Royal House of Granger.”

“The…Black….Royal….Granger?” Hermione snickered as her usually erudite friend goggled at her, apparently at a complete loss for words. A slight movement in her periph-eral vision caught her attention. Almost without thought, her wand was in her hand and she cast a wordless Petrification spell.

“Wha….?” Blaise didn’t move a muscle but watched, mesmerized, as she Summoned the beetle into her hand. It landed on her palm and she glared at it. “Is that….Rita Skeeter?”

“I am going to assume you didn’t know she was there.” Hermione did her best to control the anger in her voice.

“No.” Blaise whispered. “I didn’t, I swear! I never would have said all that stuff about my father if…”

“Right.” Hermione sighed and conjured a jar. Dropping the beetle into it, she made sure to fasten the lid tightly before using the wand to create a few air holes. “It’s probably best to save lengthy explanations for later anyway. When does your father expect you to re-turn to the office?”

“Ah…” Blaise shook his head as if trying to clear it. “One o’clock.”

“Right.” Hermione checked his watch. “It’s 12:45 now. I don’t mean to rush you, Blaise, but if we’re going to do this, it needs to be now. This….” She gave the jar a slightly more violent shake than was necessary. “means that we don’t really have the lux-ury of time. The Houses of Potter, Black, and Granger stand ready to offer you friendship and protection. Do you wish to accept any of these offers?”

“I do.” Blaise said, slowly. “I….I would be honored to become a part of House Granger…..that is, if you really want me….”

“Of course I want you!” Hermione beamed at him. “I…..hang on.” Glancing around the café, she was pleased to note that two of the other customers had left and the two remain-ing were sitting in the booth directly behind them and were deeply engrossed in their own conversation. “I want to put up a stronger Privacy ward.” Grasping her wand, she quick-ly traced several sigils in the air and sighed with relief when they didn’t fade. “Right…if we’re going to do this properly, you’ll need to get down on your knees.” Sliding out of the booth, she stood.

“My knees?” Looking bemused, Blaise also stood. Hermione was startled to realize that he was nearly a foot taller than her now. Somehow, that fact had escaped her yesterday.

“Yes, your knees.” She pointed to a spot on the floor. “The ritual is based on the old non-magical custom of swearing fealty. Get down on your knees and fold your hands to-gether like this.” She demonstrated the traditional “prayer” pose. Though he still looked skeptical, Blaise did as he was told. Hermione carefully waved her wand over his hands several times, intoning the ancient Celtic cantrip she’d memorized. Placing her wand on the table, she covered his hands with hers and looked directly into his eyes.

“I, Hermione Jean of the House of Granger do hereby give you, Blaise, the friendship, loyalty, and protection of House Granger.” As she spoke, Hermione felt the power began to gather around the two of them and watched, with fascination, as their joined hands be-gan to glow. “A home I offer you and safe harbor from all trials. From this day forth, your burdens are mine and you shall share in my triumphs. I make this offer freely with no restrictions or conditions. May the bonds of family, friendship, magic, and honor unite us now and forever. I bid you welcome.” She wasn’t quite sure what to expect, but she wasn’t prepared to Blaise to start speaking.

“I, Blaise Michael, pledge my life, my magic, and my honor to the service of House Granger. I will be the sword at your hip, the shield at your back, and the strong right arm at your side. From this day forward, your enemies are my enemies and your battles my own. I make this vow freely without reservation or condition, renouncing all ties, loyal-ties and bounds with those I once called kin. May the bonds of family, friendship, magic, and honor unite us forever. I am come home.” At his las words, the light that had sprung up around their hands focused itself into a cord that floated above their joined hands brief-ly, before twining itself around their wrists. Had it been a real rope, they would have been tied together, but as the cord of magic sank into their skin and faded from sight, Hermione knew they were bound by something stronger than mere rope. A small part of her won-dered why no such vows had been required when Lucius Malfoy had agreed to her offer of Parole sponsorship.

“Wow.” She whispered, releasing his hands and sinking back onto her seat.

“What….what just happened?”

“Welcome to House Granger.” Hermione picked up her wand and dispelled the privacy wards, leaving only the Muffliato charm in place. “You’re not Blaise Michael Zabini an-ymore.”

“Who am I?” Blaise looked like a small, lost child and Hermione instinctively stood, pulling him up from his kneeling position and into a tight hug.

“You’re Blaise Michael Blythe.” She murmured into his shoulder.

“Blythe?” he asked, giving her a quizzical look as she pulled back.

“It’s my mother’s maiden name.” she shrugged. “That’s the name anyone who joins House Granger will take.”

“And…” Blaise blinked several times and shook his head as if trying to clear it. “And what about Daphne and Astoria?”

“I’ll offer them the same choice I offered you.” Hermione said, grabbing her bag and fish-ing around for her money pouch. “Well…I’ll offer the choice to Daphne. If her sister’s only twelve, she won’t be old enough to swear the Oath. She’ll become a ward of what-ever House Daphne chooses. Come on.” Slinging her bag onto her shoulder, she dis-pelled the final charm and tugged Blaise’s arm.

“Where are we going?” He asked.

“First, we’re going to the Leaky Cauldron to fetch Daphne and Astoria. Even if Daphne decides she doesn’t want to accept my protection, I can offer her a safe place to stay until she figures out what she wants to do. I have several errands to run before my next meet-ing, so when we’re done at the Cauldron, I’ll drop you all off at The Eyrie. Now, come on!” With a final tug, Hermione managed to get him through the door and back into the sunshine of Lightfoot Lane.

Twenty minutes later, she found herself seated at a table in the Leaky Cauldron, waiting for Blaise, Daphne, and Astoria to pack up the girls’ meager possessions. Casting a quick privacy charm (and wasn’t it annoying that she had to do that everywhere?), she retrieved a small mirror from her satchel. Tapping it three times with her finger, she said “Harry Potter!” After a minute, her reflected face was replaced by Harry’s. She frowned when she saw that he had a black eye.

“Hey, Hermione!” He gave her a cheeky wave.

“What happened?” she sighed. Obviously, it couldn’t have been too bad or he wouldn’t be grinning like a loon.

“We found a cache of porn and prank stuff hidden in one of the niches outside the Charms corridor.” He explained.

“Fred and George?”

“The Marauders. We found one of Remus’ notebooks. I’ll send it along to you in a few days. Anyway, I made the same mistake you did the summer before our sixth year.”

“Really, Harry….” Hermione giggled.

“I’ll be fine, Hermione.” Harry assured her. “Madam Pomfrey sent around to George for some salve and I’ll be right as rain by dinner. So. What’s up?”

“I called to warn you that I’ve been forced to move up our schedule a bit.” She quickly described Blaise and Daphne’s situations to him. “Blaise is now officially under the pro-tection of House Granger. I’ve offered protection to Daphne and she’ll take it, but she wants a bit of time to think about which House she wants to join.”

“Blaise’s father is Cosimo Zabini, isn’t he? He’s on the list you know.”

“I know. I don’t think it will be a problem, though. I’m sure Blaise doesn’t know any-thing about the Knights. He and his father have always had a difficult relationship and I don’t think Cosimo would have trusted Blaise with something like that. They fight…a lot and I suspect that Mr. Zabini has strayed awfully close to the line between discipline and abuse, if he hasn’t crossed it entirely. Blaise has been on the brink of rebellion for a few years now and I think that this was the straw that broke the camel’s back. You know what I mean?”

“Because his father went after Daphne?” Hermione nodded.

“Blaise adores her, Harry. The only time I’ve ever seen him put any real effort into some-thing is when she asked him to do it and the only time I’ve ever seen him get really angry was when Justin Finch-Fletchley called her stupid and made a really crass comment about her chest.” Harry nodded.

“All right then. I told you before, Hermione – I trust your judgment. You do what you need to do and I’ll back you up.”

“Thanks, Harry.” She gave him a relieved smile. “I’ll stop by the Prophet after my meet-ing this afternoon, so the official announcement should be in tomorrow’s paper. Speaking of the Prophet…” she held up the jar so he could see it. “Look who I caught trying to eavesdrop on my private conversation.”

“So, she can get through privacy wards. Have you offered her the job?”

“Not yet. I’m going to let her stew for a bit.”

“Did you talk to the Malfoys?”

“Yes. I went over there yesterday and Lucius signed the contract last night. He’s giving his deposition now, so I don’t expect him to be ready to start for a week, at least. I didn’t need to tell him much—he was practically drooling when I told him about the library. Af-ter that, I think I could have told him that the contract required he shag every single Mug-gle-born in England–male and female–and he would have signed it.” Harry nearly chocked with laughter.

“Ron and I have had such a bad influence on you.” He finally spluttered.

“You really have.” Hermione chuckled. “Listen, Harry, have you had any more conversa-tions with Bognod?” He shook his head.

“No, why?” Hermione repeated what Blaise had told her about the goblins. “I don’t know if he’s correct, but it’s something that should be looked into. I intend to fight Co-simo on this disinheritance thing and I want to make sure that he can’t bribe his way out of doing right by his son.” Harry looked troubled.

“I agree that we should address the issue before it becomes a problem for Blaise, but I’d rather not get the Director involved unless it becomes really necessary.” He said. “He’s doing his best to clean up the corruption at the bank, but if we push too hard…”

“We’ll risk turning him into another Ragnok.” Hermione nodded. “You’re right. I’ll check the rules before the hearing—I’m betting we can demand that the judge or judges take an oath on the Truth Stone that they haven’t been bribed or influenced in any other ways.”

“Good idea.” Harry grinned again. “Hey, guess what? Neville’s here!”

“He is? Why? I thought classes weren’t starting until January.”

“Sprout wants him to get his NEWT in Potions before he starts his apprenticeship. Pro-fessor Arkwright agreed to tutor him to help get him up to speed.”

“Oh.” Hermione frowned. “Has anyone warned Arkwright about Ne-ville’s…er…difficulty with Potions?”

“Oh yes. They had a long conversation today and I think they’ve sorted out at least some of the problem—do you realize that Snape never taught us how to do any of the basic preparation techniques?”

“What? You mean like slicing and dicing and all that?” Hermione cast her mind back to her first Potions classes and realized that Harry was correct.

“Exactly. Apparently, most witches and wizards teach their kids some basic Potions be-fore they come to Hogwarts….”

“…and a lot of kids raised in the Muggle world know it all because their parents teach them some basic cookery.” The Knut dropped. “Oh, poor Neville! I never realized…”

“No one did. McGonagall was practically in tears when she found out. Apparently, she got rather cross with Neville because Snape kept deducting points.”

“But Snape took points from us all the time and she never got mad.”

“That’s because she knew that Snape was just doing it to be a git. With Neville, she thought he’d actually earned the deductions.”

“Poor Neville.” Hermione sighed again.

“Don’t worry—Arkwright will get him sorted out soon enough and they seem to get on pretty well.”

“Good. Tell him I said ‘Hello’…..and Harry?”

“Yes, Hermione?”

“Do try to be a bit more careful.”

“I will.” He laughed. “Good bye.”

“Good bye.”

**

“What troubles you, Draco?” Narcissa peered at her son over the rim of her goblet. He had barely touched his food and was scowling at his plate as if it had done him a grievous injury. She suspected she knew what was on his mind, but she held her peace, waiting for him to speak.

“I…” Draco pushed his roasted potatoes around with his fork. “What, exactly, did Father agree to? With Granger, I mean?”

“As I understand it, your father is now a Low Vassal of Miss Granger’s House. As he is Head of the Malfoy family, you and I are also her vassals.”

“Low Vassal?” Draco looked blank and Narcissa stifled a slight surge of irritation. She loved her son more than anything, but she was not blind to his faults—one of which was a tendency not to listen to anything that was not of immediate interest to him.

“Before the Ministry was formed, wizard-kind was ruled over by an elite group of titled nobles. My ancestors—and yours—were once Barons. Common people would attach themselves to nobles in an effort to seek protection or to gain favor or professional ad-vancement. These people were called vassals and in return for the benefits they received from being associated with a particular noble, they swore fealty and provided service to their Lord or Lady. Many nobles would class their vassals as either High or Low. High vassals were those who either had some wealth and power of their own or had a special-ized skill that the noble found valuable. They were allowed a great deal of autonomy and accorded a great deal of respect. Low vassals were those who served a noble because they were forced to—either by economic circumstance or because they owed a Life Debt or, as in your father’s case, because they were criminals on Parole.”

“But what does all that actually mean?” Draco persisted.

“It means that our lives are now Miss Granger’s to do with as she wishes. She can tell us where to live, what jobs you and your father may take, whom you may marry…she can even, if she likes, tell us how much food we can eat. She will have full access to our bank accounts, though she claims not to want to do anything more than see our records on oc-casion, and, should we run out of funds, she will be responsible for our maintenance. The contract binds our House to hers—her allies are our allies and her enemies are ours. Most importantly, she can punish us for any perceived wrongdoing.” Draco looked outraged.

“But….why would father do such a thing?” Draco spluttered. “I mean, I understand why he agreed to Parole, but why her? She’s….she’s nobody! Worse than nobody, she’s a Mud…”

“Stop!” Narcissa’s voice cut through the air like a knife. Taking a deep breath, she at-tempted to calm herself. “I strongly advise you to excise that particular term from your vocabulary, Draco. It is not politic. To answer your question, your father chose the lesser of two evils. We are quite fortunate, in fact, that he was given a choice at all.”

“What do you mean?” Draco’s brows furrowed. “Pansy’s father offered to be our spon-sor…”

“Draco, you know as well as I do that, if your father had accepted his offer, our vaults would have been empty within a year, any understanding you have with Pansy regarding a future marriage would have been broken, we would most likely have been forced to leave the Manor and live in far more…humble dwellings, and you and your father would have been set to performing menial jobs in one of his factories, while I would have been pimped out to the highest bidders…after Edmund had finished with me, of course.” She shuddered at the thought. “It is quite possible that we would have been separated and al-lowed to see one another rarely, if at all. To be quite blunt, the Malfoy family would have been utterly ruined and our name ground into dust.”

“Won’t that happen anyway?” Draco asked. “I mean, I’m sure Granger wouldn’t make you do….well…that, but she could spend our money and make us move and make Father and me get horrible jobs and all the rest of it.”

“She could.” Narcissa acknowledged “but I don’t believe she will. Think, Draco. Was there any point in time during our conversation yesterday when she was anything other than polite or respectful? Other than when she was dealing with that fool, McLaggen, of course.” She watched as Draco frowned in thought.

“No.” he said, reluctantly.

“Did she make even the slightest attempt to bully or humiliate us?”

“No. But Father hadn’t signed the contract yet. Maybe she was just waiting for that.”

“Perhaps.” Narcissa conceded. “You know her better than your father and I do. Is that the kind of person she is?”

“No.” Draco muttered. “Weasley would have been laughing his arse off at our situation and rubbing it in our noses every chance he got, but not Granger.”

“In fact, Miss Granger seems to be going out of her way to permit us as much dignity as our situation will allow.” Narcissa pointed out. “Your father is convinced that she is un-aware of the true scope of control she has over our lives, but I don’t agree. She may not know the subtleties that distinguish High and Low Vassals, but I think she knows exactly how much power she has and is choosing not to use it. Tell me about her.”

“What?” Draco seemed startled at the command. “What do you want to know?”

“I want to know everything you can tell me about her.” Narcissa said, patiently. “What are her strengths? What are her weaknesses? Why do you think she offered to stand as our family’s sponsor?”

“Well…” Draco paused and Narcissa was pleased to see that he was giving her questions some serious thought. Draco was very like his father, she reflected. At heart, both were rather uncomplicated men who were ill suited to navigate the dangerous waters of power and politics into which fate had thrust them. They tended to treat the Malfoy name and fortune as hammers that were to be applied with utmost force. This situation, however, required a much more delicate approach, at which—fortunately for all of them—she ex-celled.

“Granger is smart. She knows it and she likes other people to know it, too.” Draco said, finally. “She was always the first one to raise her hand in every class and she always sounded like she swallowed the textbook. But she’s not just good at school, she’s got a knack for applying what she learns in ways that other people wouldn’t usually think of. Did you ever hear about Marietta Edgecombe?” Narcissa considered the question.

“I have a vague recollection of your father complaining because her mother kept wanting him to do something about the poor girl’s acne.” Draco nearly choked on his pumpkin juice as he laughed.

“Marietta Edgecombe was the one who ratted out Potter’s little army to Umbridge during our fifth year.” He explained. “The minute she told Umbridge, the spots appeared on her face. They spelled the word ‘Snitch.’ Granger was responsible for that. Apparently, she made everyone who joined Potter’s gang sign a contract and put some kind of jinx on the parchment. No one knows how she did it, either.”

“Intriguing.” Narcissa murmured. “You mentioned something about McLaggen’s son yesterday?”

“Yes,. Granger somehow managed to curse him with impotency during our sixth year. What’s more, no one ever suspected her of doing it. Like I said, Snape was convinced that someone in Slytherin did it.”

“What else?”

“She’s fanatically loyal to Potter and she bosses him around something awful. Weasley, at least, has the balls to tell her where to get off on occasion.”

“Language, Draco.” She said this automatically. “Who are her friends? Her allies?” Draco shrugged.

“I never saw her with anyone but Potter and his crowd. So, that’s four Weasleys—the twins, Ron, and Ginny—Neville Longbottom and, after our fifth year, Luna Lovegood.”

“Is she romantically involved with anyone?”

“I’m not sure. I know there were stories going around about her and Viktor Krum during our fourth year, but I never really heard anything else. Oh!” Draco began to laugh. “And she started trying to free the House Elves during our fourth year as well.”

“Free the…?” Narcissa was confused. “Why would anyone want to free the House Elves?”

“Beats me. I just know that she had some sort of club and was trying to get people to wear badges for it. It’s clear as anything that she doesn’t know a thing about wizarding culture. Look at the way she was dressed yesterday!

“Your father spent ten minutes complaining about the same thing.” Narcissa chuckled. “I think I shall undertake to teach her proper etiquette and deportment.”

“Why bother?”

“Draco, please do try to think these things through before you ask questions.” Narcissa sighed. “Miss Granger made the offer of sponsorship in her own name – not on behalf of House Potter or anyone else. That means she has a great deal of wealth and influence. Your father believes that she will try to build a solid voting bloc in the Wizengamot to push through certain reforms and that she will undoubtedly have Potter’s support in her efforts. Furthermore, he suspects that Granger and Potter are trying to cultivate public support for their ideas. In all likelihood, they will succeed in their endeavors, though it will take a great deal of time, effort and struggle for them to do so.”

“You think so?” Draco looked thoughtful.

“I do.” Narcissa nodded. “Your father managed to get a hold of some back issues of the Prophet and I’ve spent the morning going through them carefully. It appears that the ICW and the Muggle government are pushing for some fundamental changes in Britain’s Wizarding government and they are using Potter and Granger to give the veneer of legiti-macy to their interference. Potter is, without a doubt, the most popular wizard in the country and Granger is a close second. Unless some truly dreadful secret is uncovered about them, I don’t see that changing any time soon. Potter has made it clear that he does not wish to participate in public life, so those who support him will gather around Granger. Within ten years, she will most likely be the most powerful person in Wizarding Britain. And we will be right by her side every step of the way! Do you understand?”

“I….think so.” Draco spoke hesitantly as if he was trying to force his thoughts into new channels in his brain. “You’re saying that the stronger Granger is, the stronger we be-come, right?” She nodded. “But what makes this any different than what happened with Riddle? Father thought he was going to be the right hand of the ruler of the Wizarding world…”

“In many ways, the situations are quite similar.” Narcissa conceded, pleasantly surprised that her son had made the connection. “We are taking a risk by placing our faith in Miss Granger and giving her our support, just as we took a risk by supporting Tom Riddle. I like to think that the outcome will be different this time. For one thing, Miss Granger does not appear to want power for its own sake the way Riddle did. I think she and Mis-ter Potter are making use of the power that has been thrust upon them, but I do not think either of them would have willingly chosen to be in their current positions. I will also point out that we will offer freely to Miss Granger that which Tom Riddle demanded of us.”

“But…”

“We have no choice about serving Parole and we really had no choice about our Sponsor. Assuming Miss Granger continues to behave as she has done so far, we do have a choice about what we can tell her and do for her. We can choose to remain aloof and do only that which we are instructed to do or we can offer our support and friendship in the hopes of gaining favor and reward in the long run—if not for ourselves than for our descendants. That is the path your father and I have chosen to walk. It will not be easy. We will need to gain her trust and, given our history, that may prove to be impossible, but we will make the attempt. You are free to choose your own path win this matter. Either you can con-tinue to see our family’s situation as merely a punishment or you can look at it as an op-portunity.” Narcissa saw the look in her son’s eyes and saw the sparkle that had been missing for so long and knew, without his having to say another word, which path he would choose.

**

Office of the DMLE – 2:00 p.m.

“Hey, Holmes! You better not let Dawlish catch you digging around his desk.” Newly minted Head Auror Johannah Holmes looked up from the parchment she was perusing to see that fleshy face of Auror Jedediah Crowley leering down at her. “Don’t worry. I won’t tell him….this time….”

“Did you just come in?” Holmes asked, keeping her tone mid. She could see that, de-spite the fact that no one in the room was openly looking at them, she and Crowley were the center of attention. They all knew about Dawlish’s sacking and her abrupt promotion and they were, no doubt, waiting to see how the new Head Auror handled herself.

“Yeah.” Crowley shrugged. “Where’s the Chief?”

“He’s in a meeting. Your shift started nearly an hour ago.” Holmes held Crowley with her gaze and saw his cheeks flush slightly. Crowley had a temper on him and even this slight admonition was enough to ignite it.

“Dawlish asked me to look into something. Who’s the Chief meeting with?”

“Hermione Granger. What were you looking into?”

“Granger? Again?” Crowley ignored her question and glanced at the closed door of the Chief’s office. “Chief spends too much time with that girl. I don’t like it.”

“I’m sure he’ll be devastated to hear that.” Holmes said, dryly. “What were you looking into?” She sat back in the chair to give him a better view of the shiny new badge on her robes. He either didn’t see it or didn’t care for what he saw.

“Fuck off!” Crowley snapped. “I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“Very well.” Holmes had learned the trick of pitching her voice to carry so that she could be heard without having to shout. As all other activity and conversation in the room had ceased, she doubted anyone would miss what she had to say. “You are hereby docked one day’s pay. The next time you are late, you’ll lose a week’s wages. Third time?” She shrugged. “Well, as the American Muggles say, ‘three strikes and you’re out!’”

“You fucking bitch!” Crowley’s hands were balled into fists. “You can’t do that!”

“Can’t I?” Holmes was out of her chair so quickly that Crowley backed up several steps before he could stop himself. At well over six feet tall, she towered over him and, more importantly, she had her wand in her hand and his was nowhere to be seen. “Tell me, Crowley….are you stupid or has all that firewhiskey damaged your eyesight? Look.” She used her free hand to point to her badge. “And that will be another day’s pay for the dis-respect.”

“But…but Dawlish…” he spluttered. His face had gone grey, but his fists were still clenched.

“…was sacked this morning.” Holmes informed him. “News you would have heard had you been here for the shift briefing. Now, I will ask you again. What did Dawlish tell you to look into?”

“I’m under orders not to say anything.” Crowley muttered, looking mutinous. “You want to know so bad? You ask Dawlish!”

“Auror Crowley.” Holmes had to resist the urge to hex the man silly. “Mister Dawlish is no longer Head of the Aurors. Furthermore, he is no longer employed by the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. Any authority he ever had to give you orders and any obli-gation you had to keep those orders secret vanished the minute Shacklebolt took his badge. Now, tell me what he wanted you to look into!”

“It’s…a State Secret. I’m sworn, you know what will happen if I talk…if I tell you!” Holmes considered this. It was true that, on occasion, the DMLE was tasked with uncov-ering or protecting persons, places or information that were so vital to the stability of the magical world that the Aurors assigned to handle these cases were forced to swear magi-cally binding oaths of secrecy. She wasn’t aware of any such operations being run at the moment and, even if there was something going on, not even Dawlish would be stupid enough to assign Crowley to a matter of such importance. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to check and it was as important to appear reasonable as it was to appear fierce and authoritative.

“Fine.” She gave him a grin that she was well aware showed too many teeth. “The Chief has a list of all active operations and the Aurors assigned to them. When he’s done with his meeting, I’ll check with him and if you’re on the list, I’ll rescind the order to dock your wages—for one day, mind. There’s still the matter of the disrespect. Now, go sit down at your damn desk and start dealing with the paperwork that has been in your in-box for at least a week. You are not to move from that spot, nor are you to talk to anyone else until either the Chief or I give you leave.” She made sure to pitch her voice so that every-one else in the room could hear that last bit. Crowley gaped at her in shock.

“But….but…” he spluttered.

“Go!” She snarled. And he went, looking very much like a dog with its tail between its legs. With a sigh, Holmes pushed her wand back into the holster under her sleeve, sat down and turned her attention to the next piece of parchment in the pile. She’d always thought Dawlish was a slob, but she’d had no idea how truly disorganized the man was until she’d claimed his desk and started working her way through the stacks of files. He’d only been Head Auror for a month, yet he appeared to have accumulated several years’ worth of memos, reports and personal correspondence. The parchment in her hand was a requisition for repairs to be made to the privacy charms on the Minister’s office. She had no idea whether or not Dawlish had actually done anything about this, so she added it to her ever-growing “to-do” list.

“Homes!” She looked up again a few minutes later to see the Chief waving at her from the door of his office. “Come in here, will you?”

“Yes, sir.” She nodded, straightening her robes as she stood and grabbed a clean sheaf of parchment and quill. She pointedly avoided looking at Crowley as she crossed the room.

The Director of the DMLE’s office was quite large, with room for a desk, a small confer-ence table, and bookshelves dominating three walls of the room. The fourth wall boasted a large fireplace that Holmes knew was connected to the Floo network. Other than Shack-lebolt, Hermione Granger was the only other person in the room.

Holmes eyed the girl warily. Though she had never met Hermione Granger, she’d heard all the stories. There were the ones everyone knew, of course—Granger had been one of Harry Potter’s closest allies and had been with him during almost every major milestone in his fight against Voldemort (excluding that whole mess with the Chamber of Secrets, of course—but she’d been Petrified, so she was hardly to be blamed for her absence on that occasion). But there were also the stories that weren’t in the papers, but were only whispered and were always attributed to “a friend of a friend.” Someone said that Granger had somehow managed to convince Bellatrix LeStrange to walk, bold as brass, into Gringotts and try to rob the place. Someone else said that she’d been the one respon-sible for freeing Sirius Black from Hogwarts the night he’d been sentenced to die. The craziest story Holmes had heard was that Granger had been one of the kids who’d raided the Department of Mysteries (which was true enough) and that she’d somehow managed to walk away from an attack by one of the Cranial Parasites unscathed. Holmes didn’t believe it—she’d read the report that the DOM had worked up about those hideous things and for Granger to have survived with her mental faculties intact would be simply impos-sible.

“Hermione, allow me to introduce Head Auror Johannah Holmes. Holmes, this is Hermi-one Granger.”

“Pleased to meet you.” Holmes shook the hand that was offered and was pleased to note that the grip was firm, but that the girl didn’t attempt to crush her hand in some sort of misguided attempt at proving dominance or superiority.

“Sit down, both of you.” Shacklebolt waved a hand towards the conference table. After they were both settled, he stood at the head of the table, gazing at them. “Holmes, this discussion is not to leave this room without my authorization, understood?”

“Yes, sir.” Holmes was completely baffled. What in Merlin’s name was going on? She had a feeling she was about to learn why Granger had been spending so much time with the Chief lately.

“As I’m sure you know, the identities of the Ministry and Muggle…excuse me….non-magical members of the Council are being kept quiet so as to avoid any undue influence or claims of favoritism.”

“Or hatchet jobs in the Prophet.” Holmes added. Both Shacklebolt and Granger gave nods of agreement.

“Yes, well. Miss Granger is a member of the Council, representing the non-magical gov-ernment.” Holmes felt her jaw drop in astonishment. Granger was blushing slightly and looking at her hands, which were folded in her lap, while the Chief’s lips were twitching as if he was trying not to laugh. “Furthermore, it has pleased her majesty, Queen Eleanor, to name Miss Granger Her Grace, the Duchess of Avalon.”

**

Hermione decided that she never wanted to play poker with Auror Holmes. The woman’s face could have been carved from granite for all the expression on it. When she spoke, she sounded only mildly confused, though, if Kingsley was to believed, Auror Holmes was Muggleborn and had surely recognized at least part of the title.

“The what?”

“I’m the Duchess of Avalon.” Hermione said. “England used to have its own version of the Statute of Secrecy before the International version went into effect in the 1690s. Back in those days, the monarch would appoint someone to be his or her voice in the Wizarding world and to ensure that his or her laws were being obeyed. That person would be given the title of the Duke of Avalon and he would have dominion over all the magical people and creatures in England. He was also responsible for keeping the muggles from finding out about magic. The last Duke died just before the International Statute of Secrecy was enacted.”

“The title has been dormant for three hundred years.” Kingsley said. “In light of recent events, the Queen has decided to revive it.”

“And she appointed you?” Hermione blushed at the Auror’s stare. For some reason, she had a strong desire to impress this woman. It was rather like the feeling she had when she was around Professor McGonagall. “No offense, but why?”

“I’m not entirely sure, to be honest.” Hermione admitted. “I thought for sure that she was going to make Harry the new duke.”

“Harry? You mean Harry Potter?” It was clear that the older woman’s shock was wear-ing off and that she was starting to think the matter through. “Yes, I can see why Potter would be the obvious choice. After all, he’s the boy-who-lived-to-stomp-Riddle’s-arse.” Hermione snorted with laughter and Kingsley ducked his head to hide a smile. “People would do anything he said right now because of that alone, but that’s probably why her Majesty decided not to give him the title.”

“Explain, please.” Kingsley looked at his subordinate with interest.

“Well sir, if the queen made Potter a duke, his authority would last only as long as his popularity does. You know how fickle people are when it comes to him. Today, he’s the savior of the wizarding world. Tomorrow, they’ll think he’s insane or the next Dark Lord or about to abandon the wizarding world to go live with the Muggles. It’s been less than two months since he defeated Riddle and people are already complaining because he’s hidden himself away at Hogwarts…”

“Harry’s not hiding.” Hermione said, automatically. Auror Holmes held her gaze for a moment and nodded slowly.

“I can see why she picked you, though. You’re a muggle-born and I’d guess that would be really important to her. You’re a war hero in your own right and from everything I’ve heard, you’ve got the support of at least four Noble Houses.”

“Four?” Kingsley asked.

“Potter, Black, Longbottom, and Bones.” Holmes ticked them off on her fingers. Hermi-one felt the blood rise to her face. She really wished there was a spell to control blushing. “I don’t think people realize yet just how many young people are going to be taking seats in the Wizengamot when it reconvenes. Miss Granger here has herself a powerful voting bloc already.”

Kingsley looked thoughtful for a moment, then shook his head as if to clear it. “Be that as it may, the only people who know the revival of the Duchy are Miss Granger, myself, Mr. Potter, Professor McGonagall, Croaker and now you.” He glared at her. “And I ex-pect it will stay that way. I trust I will not need to make you swear to that.” Holmes gulped. Hermione didn’t blame her. Kingsley could be terrifying when he wanted to be.

“Yes, sir. I mean, no sir. I don’t need to swear an oath to keep a secret.”

“Good.”

“Um, sir? Why are you telling me?”

“First and foremost, because Her Majesty has tasked our department with ensuring the safety of Miss Granger and everyone in her household.” Again, Hermione wished for an anti-blushing charm. She really wished that the queen had not put such an emphasis on that in Kingsley’s presence.

“Wait!” This time, the Auror’s mask cracked. Hermione caught a glimpse of the little girl who had probably watched a royal wedding or two on the telly. “You met the Queen?”

“I did.” Kingsley nodded. “I was there when Miss Granger was officially elevated. Her Majesty is aware of recent events in the Wizarding world and she is also aware that the prejudices in our world did not die with Riddle. She made it clear that she will be…displeased if anything should happen to Miss Granger.” He grimaced.

“I understand, Sir. Miss Granger, am I correct in assuming that you do not intend to an-nounce your….er…elevation any time soon?” Hermione was rather impressed. It was clear that Holmes was a quick thinker and understood the delicate position she was now in. She nodded his confirmation. “Then why do you need protection? I realize that your status as a war hero makes you a rather…public figure but since no one knows you’re on the Council or that you're the Duchess of Avalon, I have a hard time imagining that even the most die-hard Riddle lover would be stupid enough to openly attack you.”

“You’re right about the fact that I don’t intend to present myself to the public as the Duchess of Avalon yet.” Hermione said. “That won’t happen for at least five years, ten if we’re lucky. But I do need to get people used to my presence in the government and to the idea that I have political power and am not afraid to use it. While her Majesty under-stands that my announcing my title now would almost inevitably lead to another war, there are some matters she would like me to attend to that cannot wait. Since I can’t claim authority in my own right at the moment, Harry has appointed me Seneschal for House Potter and House Black.”

“It’s another old wizarding custom.” Kingsley supplied, obviously seeing the Auror’s confusion. “Only this one still gets used occasionally. Basically, Potter is going to be at Hogwarts working with the DoM and wants to stay out of the public eye. However, he does not want to ignore the civic and public duties required of the Head of two Ancient and Noble houses. He’s given Miss Granger the legal authority to act on his behalf.”

“So…it’s the wizarding equivalent of Power of Attorney?” The more time she spent with Auror Holmes, the more Hermione liked the woman.

“Exactly!” she nodded. “Only this extends to all matters pertaining to House Black and House Potter. I’m not just Harry’s legal proxy, I’m his social, political, and economic proxy as well. In the eyes of the Wizengamot, the Ministry and the public, I will be the Head of both houses and Harry will be a subordinate member until he decides that he’s ready to take over.” Holmes whistled.

“There will be trouble when that gets out.” She said. “I’m pretty sure you can keep your title secret, but once this news leaks, it’s only a matter of time before people find out you’re on the Council.”

“I know.” Hermione sighed. “Harry and I were planning on waiting a few more months before making any kind of formal announcement, but circumstances have forced my hand, so I’ve had to move things up a bit.”

“One of the reasons Miss Granger was initially going to wait to go public with her new position was because I wanted time to vet everyone in my department.” Kingsley sighed. “I don’t disagree with your reasons for making the announcement now, Hermione, but in light of the Dawlish situation, I do wish it hadn’t been necessary.” Hermione gave him a sympathetic look. In truth, when she’d offered the protection of House Potter to Daphne and Astoria, it hadn’t occurred to her that this change in schedule might be problematic for other people.

“You’re not sure who you can trust.” Holmes said, her brow furrowed..

“Exactly. Dawlish was quite clearly in Edmund Parkinson’s pocket. Until we vet every-one I can’t be sure who anyone in this department really works for, present company ex-cluded, of course.” Kingsley had already informed Hermione that Auror Holmes had been vetted—almost certainly without her knowledge—when she’d helped to test the effective-ness of the Goblin truth-cuff.

“I’ll talk to the others.” Hermione said. “We’re re-sending the sponsorship contracts to everyone today and I’m going to suggest that we require that they be signed by tomorrow night. That way, we can free up all the Aurors who have been placed on babysitting duty. Now that they’ve got a hold of Lucius Malfoy I think I can convince the rest of the Council that the other depositions can wait until all the Aurors have been vetted.”

“I’d like to make a request, if I may?” Holmes looked a little guilty, as if she didn’t like asking favors.

“Of course.”

“Vet Crowley first.” Holmes said. “He was almost an hour late for the start of his shift. He claims that it was because Dawlish sent him on an assignment. Unless I’m mistaken,” here she glanced at her boss “there are no covert ops running at the moment. So, if Crow-ley really was following Dawlish’s orders, then…”

“Then Dawlish was running an operation on his own…or on Edmund Parkinson’s be-half.” Kingsley sighed again. “Right. Hermione, please stress the urgency of this situa-tion to the others.”

“I will.” Hermione took a minute to consider the other Council members. “I shouldn’t have trouble with Herr Breitkopf, Miss Umatsu or Mr. Morland. The Ministry reps may put up a fight, though.”

“Do you think they’ve been corrupted?” Holmes asked, worried.

“No. They’ve been vetted. Ramwood is a good man, but he’s rather…er…naïve. He thinks that you can tell the bad people from the good by whether they have a Dark Mark on their arm. He also thinks that Riddle and his followers were the only problems in the wizarding world. He’s fighting any changes in our system that don’t directly relate to them. Reg Catamole hates Riddle’s people and won’t want to put off dealing with them. He already thinks we’re being far too lenient with them as it is.”

“Well, they’re your problem and you’re welcome to it.” Kingsley gave her a broad grin and Hermione responded by sticking her tongue out at him. Auror Holmes chuckled. “Holmes, even if Miss Granger does manage to convince the Council to rearrange their schedule, it will take several weeks before we can vet everyone. You’ll need to keep a sharp eye out to make sure that everyone is behaving themselves. I also want you to let me know if anyone shows any special interest in Miss Granger, Mr. Potter or….ah...I’m sorry, Hermione, what were their names again?”

“Daphne and Astoria Greengrass.” Hermione supplied.

“Who?” Once again, Holmes looked confused.

“Daphne and Astoria Greengrass.” Hermione repeated, patiently. “Daphne was one of my class-mates at Hogwarts and Astoria is her little sister. Their parents both died earlier this year and their father left his entire estate to Riddle. I’ve offered them protection in my official capacities as Seneschal for Houses Potter and Black and Head of House Granger. Daphne has agreed to accept that protection, but hasn’t decided which House she wants to belong to yet.”

“All right, but why would anyone care about that? I thought that Great Houses were sup-posed to offer shelter to orphans and things like that.” Hermione reached into the pocket of her jacket and pulled out a folded up piece of parchment, which she handed to Holmes.

“There are people who want to…take advantage of the girls’ situation. Daphne was able to hold her own, but their situation deteriorated dramatically last night and Daphne’s boy-friend asked for my help. While I was visiting her at the Leaky Cauldron, Daphne told me about this.” She watched Holmes’ face as the woman read the note. She was pleased to see that the Auror’s rage matched her own.

“That….that bastard!” Holmes looked as though she was going to be ill. “Don’t worry, I’ll make sure my people know that those girls are off limits.”

“Thank you.” Hermione felt relief wash over her. “Daphne and Astoria are going to live with me for now, but I want to be sure that they can walk down Diagon Alley without being molested.” Holmes gave an emphatic nod.

“So now you know the situation.” Shackklebolt said. “Do you have any questions?”

“A few.” Holmes looked thoughtful. “Can you tell me what her Majesty has asked you to do?”

“Well,” Hermione considered the question for a moment, wondering how much it was safe to tell this woman. “I suppose, when you get right down to it, my job is to fix the wizarding world. Riddle was a symptom of a number of much larger problems, starting with the fact that first and second generation witches and wizards make up nearly a quar-ter of our population and yet we have no voice on the Wizengamot, and ending with the fact that Daphne and her sister faced the real possibility of being forced into a life of pros-titution because her boyfriend’s father suddenly decided his son was too good for her. The legal system is a mess and does not conform to non-magical British law, the econo-my is….well, I don’t even know of a good word to describe it and, other than Hogwarts, there is no education system to speak of. The Ministry has been rife with corruption for nearly a century and the Daily Prophet prints whatever insane theory Rita Skeeter comes up with as if it is fact and everyone just seems to swallow it whole!” Hermione took a deep breath to steady herself. “Basically, I’ve got to drag British wizards into this centu-ry, kicking and screaming if necessary.”

“But, surely, as Duchess of Avalon, you can just tell people what you want done and they’ll have to do it, won’t they?

“Think, Holmes.” Kingsley sighed. “How would she enforce any decrees she made?” Holmes’ mouth formed a silent ‘o’ of comprehension.

“Her Majesty has some resources I can use to push things through if I have to,” Hermione said “but if enough people disagree, then we risk another war. Even if there isn’t a war, I won’t be around forever and neither will the Queen. If we’re going to make changes that last beyond our lifetimes, we’re going to have to work within the existing system.” For-tunately, that seemed to be all the information Holmes required, for she changed subjects.

“Can you tell me how you managed to avoid that spell McLaggen cast at you last night?”

“I’d like to know the answer to that as well.” Kingsley’s eyes had a suspicious twinkle in them. “We saw Mrs. Malfoy’s memory of the event and you were diving for the flor even before the spell left his wand.”

“Er…well…” Hermione wondered if she was going to suffer some kind of brain damage from all the blood that kept rushing to her head. “I haven’t quite got the hang of Floo travel you see and I tripped on the Malfoys’ rug as I was exiting the fireplace…” Holmes stared at her for a moment, then burst out laughing.

“I’m sorry.” She wiped away a tear. “It’s just that you seemed so…impossible a moment ago and…. It’s nice to know that you’re a human being like the rest of us.” They were interrupted by a knock on the door.

“Come!” Kingsley barked, looking rather irritated. To Hermione’s surprise, Sullivan Fawley poked his head in the door.

“Sorry to interrupt, Chief, but there’s a situation downstairs and they’re demanding that the Head Auror come down immediately.”

“Who, exactly, is making this demand?”

“Edmund Parkinson and Dolores Umbridge, sir. It’s about Lucius Malfoy.”

**

Lucius Malfoy was enjoying himself immensely. He was, it appeared, not actually re-quired to say anything, so he simply leaned back against the wall and watched the show. At the moment, Edmund Parkinson was looming over the small, yet stolid form of Am-brose Morland, who wasn’t giving an inch. Dolores Umbridge stood to one side adding her two knuts worth of “assistance” every time Parkinson stopped to draw breath. Two stone-faced Aurors stood behind Morland, not speaking, but contributing much to the dis-cussion by their mere presence.

“…and I demand to see the Head Auror!” Parkinson shouted for the fourth time.

“As I said, a message has been sent to the….ah!” Lucius turned his head slightly to see what had caught Morland’s attention. The crowd that had gathered around them was scrambling to make way for three people—the Director of the DMLE, a very tall female Auror Lucius didn’t recognize, and Hermione Granger. At the sight of his new sponsor, Lucius felt a small frisson on fear run up his spine. In reading the contract last night, it had struck home just how much control she now had over his life and how very bad things could get if she was displeased.

“Auror McKennit! Report!” The tall woman stepped forward and the two Aurors behind Morland saluted sharply. As the one on the left opened his mouth, he was interrupted by a noise that Lucius had hoped to never hear again.

“Hem hem…..Excuse me.” Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Granger wince and re-called that she had no more love for the pink-clad monstrosity than he did. He saw the Auror’s head turn slowly and watched as she fixed the shorter woman with her stare. “We requested the presence of the Head Auror, dear. Please go and fetch him.”

“Auror Holmes!” Granger interrupted. “This woman is on Parole and, is therefore, barred from Ministry premises unless accompanied by her sponsor.” The tall woman nodded curtly and gestured to one of her colleagues.

“Shaw, take this woman into custody…”

“That will not be necessary.” Edmund Parkinson interjected, smoothly. “I am Ms. Um-bridge’s sponsor.” The Head Auror—Lucius could see the badge of her office glinting on her chest—turned to look at him.

“And you are?”

“I am Edmund Parkinson of the Most Ancient House of Parkinson.” Lucius snorted. Most Ancient, my arse… Parkinson was giving the woman what Lucius was certain he thought was his most charming smile. It wasn’t having any effect.

“I see. You are this woman’s sponsor?”

“I am.”

“Very well. What can I do for you?”

“My apologies but I asked to speak with Auror Dawlish.” Parkinson continued to smile, but it looked a bit forced now.

“You asked to speak to the Head Auror.” Shacklebolt said. His stance and expression were easy, but Lucius could see that one of his hands rested on the handle of his wand. “Auror Holmes assumed that position this morning.”

“What?” Umbridge screeched. “Impossible! You’re making it up….” She squeaked in terror as she was suddenly confronted by a very close-up view of the very tall new Head Auror.

“Are you suggesting that the Director of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement is a liar?” The woman growled. She wasn’t holding her wand, but Lucius got the strong im-pression that the woman could have easily ripped Umbridge apart with her bare hands.

“No…no, of course not.” Umbridge babbled, trying to back up and discovering that she was hemmed in by the crowd that had gathered to watch the show.

“I thought not.” The woman deliberately turned her back on the pink toad and stalked back to her starting position beside her boss. Granger, meanwhile, was watching the whole scene with interest. “Now, Mr. Parkinson, as I’m sure you can understand, I have a great deal of work to do and would like to clear this matter—whatever it is—up as quick-ly as possible. What seems to be the problem?”

“Ah…well…” It took Parkinson a moment to collect himself, but all too soon, the charming smile was back in place. “You see, Auror Holmes, I am entitled to attend Lu-cius Malfoy’s deposition, but when I attempted to do so, this….” He gave a dismissive gesture towards Morland “person denied me. I asked to see the Head Auror in the hopes that someone in authority might assist me.”

“I see.” Holmes frowned. “And what makes you think you have a right to attend Mr. Malfoy’s deposition?”

“I am his sponsor.” Parkinson looked quite pleased with himself.

“That’s impossible!” Granger nearly spat the word. Lucius arched an eyebrow. She’d been quite clear that she did not want their relationship known and yet, it seemed she was about to share it with the entire world—or that part of it that was currently gathered around them, anyway.

“I assure you, my dear girl, that it is not only possible, but it is the truth.” Parkinson turned his smile on to Granger, but it wavered in the face of her obvious anger. “I signed the contract this morning.”

“You signed the contract.” Kingsley said. “What about Mr. Malfoy?”

“I think we should ask him, don’t you?” Granger had a smirk on her face as she turned to him and the knot in Lucius’ stomach eased somewhat. Though it was clear that the girl was furious, it was equally clear that her rage was not directed at him. She’d worn the same expression just before she and Draco had teamed up to humiliate McLaggen. “Mr. Malfoy, did you sign a Parole contract with Edmund Parkinson?”

“I did not.”

“Then he should be the one under arrest!” Umbridge shrieked. “He’s here without his sponsor…”

“Be quiet!” Shacklebolt snapped. “Mr. Malfoy, is your sponsor in the building?”

“Yes.” Lucius nodded. “And I have a day pass, so that my Sponsor does not need to be constantly by my side.”

“Who is it?” Umbridge asked. “I demand to speak…”

“You are hardly in a position to demand anything.” Granger turned to face the woman head-on. “Now, be quiet!”

“How dare you speak to me like that, you filthy little mudblood!” You could have heard a knut fall in the silence that followed Dolores Umbridge’s outburst. Since the end of the war, uttering the word “mudblood” had become almost as bad as saying Voldemort.

“Mr. Parkinson.” Shacklebolt rumbled. “Keep control of your charge lest I throw you both out of the building.”

“Hold your tongue, Dolores.” Parkinson hissed. “My apologies, Miss….er….Miss.” He was looking at the Director of the DMLE, so he didn’t see Granger roll her eyes. “Direc-tor I’m sure this is all a misunderstanding. I assure you that I am Mister Malfoy’s spon-sor…”

“The rules of Parole state that you can only sponsor one person.” Granger said. “You are Madam Umbridge’s sponsor, therefore you cannot be Mr. Malfoy’s.”

“Do not intervene in matters that are not your affair.” Parkinson snapped, still not look-ing at her. “Director, I…”

“Mr. Parkinson!” Everyone turned to stare at Ambrose Morland, who looked absolutely stricken. “The way you and your creature have behaved is deplorable. Miss Granger is a member o the Council and…”

“Ambrose!” Granger snapped, but it was too late. A ripple of sound spread out through the crowd and Lucius saw all the attention shift from Parkinson to Granger. He did his best to hide his own shock at the news, but even if his jaw had fallen open like that of some common yokel, he doubted anyone would have noticed. How in the name of Mer-lin, Mordred, and the Seven Smiling Saints had Hermione Granger landed on the Council that was currently overseeing the entirety of Magical Britain?

“You….” Edmund was staring at Granger as if she was a centaur that had just used his dining room rug as a toilet. “You are a member of the Council?”

“Impossible!” Umbridge shrieked. Her wand was only half drawn when she was hit by at least four Stunners. All three Aurors had cast and Lucius suspected that one or two of the people in the crowd might have decided to assist.

“Mr. Parkinson, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.” Shacklebolt said.

“But…but…” Lucius had never seen Parkinson so off-balance before. He rather enjoyed the sight. “But Lucius Malfoy…”

“Lucius Malfoy is none of your concern.” Shacklebolt said, firmly. “Unless you have any other business here, you need to leave now. If you will not do so on your own, I will ask Auror Holmes and her people to escort you out. Oh, and take….” He prodded the in-ert form of Dolores Umbriege with his toe. “…that with you. Please do not bring her to the Ministry again unless her presence is specifically requested.” Parkinson pulled him-self together enough to give the Director a curt nod. Pulling his wand, he levitated Dolores Umbridge and strode off towards the bank of fireplaces that connected to the Floo Network. Lucius saw Holmes jerk her chin at one of the Aurors, who hurried to follow him.

“Oh dear.” Morland was wringing his hands. “I am terribly sorry, Hermione.”

“It was bound to come out sooner or later.” She sighed. “I’m more concerned with Ed-mund Parkinson at the moment.”

“As am I.” Shacklebolt growled, then seemed to become aware of the crowd that was still gathered around them. “However, I believe that this discussion should be continued somewhere more private.”

“I agree.” Hermione nodded. “Ambrose, I think we’re going to need the full Council for this. Would you mind finishing up with Mr. Malfoy and sending him home early? I’ll round up everyone else.” She sighed. “It’s going to be a long night….”

“Of course.” Morland nodded, then gestured to Lucius. “If you’ll follow me, Mr. Mal-foy, we’ll tie up some loose ends and you can be on your way.” As he followed Ambrose down the hall, Lucius cast one look over his shoulder at his Sponsor. She was walking in the opposite direction, talking earnestly to Shacklebolt and Auror Holmes. The more he learned about Hermione Granger, the more he wondered just what he’d managed to et himself into.

**

July 3, 1998

“Tori!” Daphne Greengrass woke with a shout. The nightmare, in which a shadowy fig-ure had grabbed her sobbing sister and put his hands—far more hands than were reasona-ble for one person—all over her, had left Daphne breathless and disoriented. It didn’t help anything to wake up in an unfamiliar room. Slowly, Daphne sat up and looked around, trying her best to suppress the rising panic.

The room in which she found herself was large and, except for the small bed and her trunk, completely empty. Still, it was clean and there was a cheerful fire blazing in the hearth. Heavy, old-looking drapes had been pulled across the window, so Daphne had no idea whether it was day or night or any other clues that might help her figure out where she was. The bed was much narrower than the one she’d slept in at home, or even the one she and Tori had shared at the little apartment over Fortescue’s and it was covered in an old blanket that seemed to be nothing but scraps of fabric sewn together to make interest-ing shapes and patterns.

Slowly, Daphne pushed the cover back and sung her legs over the side, gingerly placing her feet on the bare wooden floorboards. She was, she saw, wearing one of her own night-gowns. Panic started to rise in her throat—she had no recollection of undressing! Some-one else must have removed her clothes and put her in the night-gown and…

“Good morning, Miss!” Daphne nearly screamed as the House Elf appeared with a pop.

“I….where…..Who are you?” she gasped, clutching the material of the night-gown to her chest, even though the gown showed about as much skin as McGonagall’s regular teach-ing robes.

“I is being Effie.” The elf said, using the exact same tone of voice that Daphne’s old nursery-elf had used when she’d been forced to patiently repeat herself because Daphne hadn’t listened the first time she was told something. “I is being House Elf here at The Eyrie.”

“The Eyrie?” Daphne blinked several times. “Wait….that’s the big house on the hill be-hind Diagon Alley, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Miss.” The elf nodded happily. “It was being owned by Master Charlus Potter, but is now being owned by Mistress Hermione….”

“Hermione Granger!” Daphne breathed, suddenly flooded by the memories of the last twenty four hours. “That’s right….we came here yesterday.”

“Yes!” The House Elf clapped with pleasure. “You and Miss Astoria are being brought here by Mistress Hermione. She tells Effie to give you food and to make clean rooms for you and Mister Blaise. She is working late and you and Miss Astoria and Mister Blaise are all falling asleep in the living rom. When she gets home Miss Hermione is telling Effie not to wake you, but to put you to bed.”

“So, you’re the one who put me in my night-gown?” Daphne felt relief wash over her.

“Yes, Miss.” The elf nodded happily. “Only, now it is morning and there is being break-fast and Miss Hermione tells Effie to wake everyone up.”

“All right.” Daphne gave the House elf a broad smile. She had learned, long ago, that it was always wise to be friendly to house elves. “Can you please show me where I can freshen up?” There were two doors in the room and Daphne didn’t need to have Granger’s brains to figure out that one led to the bathroom, but House elves liked to feel needed.

“There is being a bathroom through this door.” The house elf gestured towards the far wall. “You is having time to take a shower and Effie is laying out clothes for you.”

“Thank you, Effie. Are Blaise and my sister awake yet?”

“Mister Blaise is awake and Effie is waking up Miss Astoria when I is finished here.”

“Good. Please give this to Astoria and tell her I’ll see her soon.” Reaching into her trunk, Daphne pulled out a small doll that was no bigger than the palm of her hand. The doll was quite ordinary looking and vaguely female, but its value ran much deeper than mere aesthetics. The doll was one of a matched pair—the other one was still in Daphne’s trunk–and both were bespelled to mimic their owner’s physical and emotional states. If Daphne had been wounded, the little doll would have had an identical injury. If Daphne had been frightened or unhappy or angry, the doll’s face would have reflected that. If the dolls were ever separated from their owners, those who were familiar with them could use them to track the girls down. What was most important at the moment, was that the dolls could act as a sort of communication device between the sisters.

Effie took the doll, nodded happily and disappeared as quickly as she’d come. Before ex-ploring the bathroom, Daphne picked up the other doll and gently touched its forehead.

“Be calm. Play along.” She whispered, focusing all her efforts on projecting cool wari-ness at the doll. The doll now on its way to Astoria wouldn’t repeat her words—couldn’t speak, in fact—but Astoria would be able to glean the substance of the message. Hopeful-ly, she’d understand enough to keep her from doing or saying something stupid before Daphne could stop her.

It was a strange mix of empathy and telepathy that Daphne didn’t really understand. Her mother, who had given them the dolls, claimed that the magic used in their formation was so old that no one really remembered it anymore. The only spells her mother knew utiliz-ing this old magic were passed down through the family and was used to make the dolls and similar items used by adults. However it worked, Daphne was grateful it did.

The bathroom was just as sparse as the bedroom. There was a large, claw-foot tub and a matching sink, but though the room was almost as large as the bedroom, it lacked a vanity and the other accouterments one usually found in the homes of the wealthy. There were, however, towels that were sinfully soft and so large that Daphne was able to wrap her en-tire body in one. After a quick shower, she returned to her room to discover that Effie had, indeed, laid out a simple day robe for her. It was only after she’d dressed that Daph-ne realized that she had no clue where to go next.

“Effie?” The little house elf appeared almost instantly. “Can you please show me where I am supposed to go for breakfast?”

“Yes, Miss.” The little elf walked over to the door and opened it with a snap of her fin-gers. After making sure that Daphne could see her clearly, she pointed to her left. “Miss is going down the stairs and through the first door on your right. That is the big dining room. Miss is going through the big dining room into the small dining room.”

“All right.” Daphne smiled at the elf. “And which rooms are my sister and Blaise staying in?”

“Miss Astoria is being next door on the right and Mr. Blaise is being in room next door to the left.”

“Thank you, Effie.” The House Elf gave a cheerful wave and disappeared and Daphne stepped through the open door. The hallway in which she found herself was long and nar-row, with one wall being dominated by tall, narrow windows. Opposite each windw was a door and Daphne guessed from the proximity of the doors to one another that the rooms must have had expansion charms built into them. At a rough guess, she estimated that there were at least twelve doors on this hallway.

There was nothing else of interest to see in the corridor itself, so she turned to her right and knocked on the first door. Her knuckles had barely lifted after the first rap when the door flew open and Daphne was nearly tackled by her sister, Astoria.

“Oh, Daph! Thank goodness it’s you. I was so worried…..” Daphne was astonished to realize that her normally unflappable sister was trembling.

“It’s okay.” She gently stroked Astoria’s head, which was buried in her shoulder. A small portion of her brain felt a twinge of jealousy at the fact that, at only twelve, Astoria was nearly as tall as her already and showed every sign of continuing to grow. Daphne had inherited their father’s looks, but their mother’s height, while Astoria had gotten the reverse. “We’re at Hermione Granger’s house, remember?”

“Yes.” Astoria pulled back and sniffed. Daphne was astonished to see that her eyes were bloodshot. Had Astoria been crying? “Are we going to live here now?”

“I don’t know.” Daphne sighed. “I think it’s up to Hermione to make that decision. But listen, from what I know of her, no matter where we end up we’ll be better off than we were yesterday and….” She cut herself off. Astoria didn’t know about Edmund Parkin-son’s offer or how close Daphne had come to taking it. Merlin willing, she would never know. Before Astoria could ask any more questions, another door opened and Blaise stepped out into the hallway, blinking blearily.

“Was I imagining things or did an incredibly bossy house elf just toss me out of bed?” he asked. Daphne and Astoria both giggled. Blaise was notoriously difficult to rouse in the morning and they could only imagine the lengths Effie had been forced to go to in order to achieve this nearly impossible task. Moving as one, the girls wrapped their arms around him. The three of them stood clinging to each other tightly before Daphne decided it was time to take charge.

“Come on.” She said. “Effie told me how to find the dining room.”

“Breakfast?” Blaise looked absurdly hopeful. Daphne caught Astoria’s gaze and rolled her eyes. Astoria snickered. Behind the polished façade and the lean and wiry frame lay the heart, brain, and appetite of a teenage boy. Grabbing Blaise’s arm with one hand and Astoria’s with the other, Daphne led them to the left. At the end of the hallway, they found the promised staircase—an impressive affair of dark, glossy wood. The banister was festooned with elaborately carved dragons of all shapes and sizes and in different po-sitions so that the whole thing reminded Daphne of a dragon preserve her father had taken her to see once.

The staircase ended in a large round hall that had no ceiling, but instead rose up through four stories to reveal a large skylight in the roof. Daphne had the impression of being at the bottom of a well, looking up at the sky above. They were in the central portion of the house, she knew—two wings extended off to either side in the manor of many old Wiz-arding manors houses. The foyer had none of the usual furnishings and there were no pic-tures on the walls.

“Where is all the furniture?” Blaise asked, echoing her thoughts. “There was only a bed in my room and it was ridiculously small.”

“Same here.” Daphne said. “Effie told me that the house used to belong to Charlus Pot-ter—that’s Harry Potter’s grandfather, I think.”

“Oh, I remember reading about him.” Astoria said, excitedly. “He died a few months be-fore Harry was born.”

“That doesn’t explain the lack of furniture.” Blaise pointed out. “Unless you’re suggest-ing he was buried with it?” He grinned at Astoria, who poked him in the ribs. The younger Greengrass had a passion for history—both Muggle and magical—and she liked to talk about the odd Muggle customs she came across, such as the ancient peoples who had buried an important man’s entire household with him.

“It’s probably all stored in the Potter vaults.” Daphne said, prodding Blaise to get him moving again. “That’s what happened when Grandmother Hazelwood died. After Moth-er and Aunt Feemie took what they wanted, the elves took the rest and put it in the Ha-zelwood vaults.” She opened the first door on the right and walked into what was obvi-ously supposed to be the formal dining room.

Here, they found furnishing at last, though like the bedrooms, it was absurdly small and rather unusual. Though the room was large enough to boast a table that could easily seat thirty, the table that was actually there could only seat eight—and that was if everyone sat squashed together. The disparity in size between the room and table gave the place a ra-ther sinister atmosphere and the three hastened through the door at the far end of the room.

The small dining room was as different from the large dining room as it was possible to be. Where the formal room had been dark and rather spooky, the small room was filled with light and color and looked quite cheerful. They were obviously at the far end of the house because a large bay window looked out onto a pleasant scene of rolling fields. Daphne assumed that the window must be enchanted as she was fairly certain that there were no fields—rolling or otherwise—anywhere near London.

There was a table set for four and here was where they found Hermione Granger, her nose buried in a book which was propped up on the milk jug. She was completely oblivious to their presence and Daphne was obliged to cough politely to get her attention.

“Oh!” Hermione looked up, startled. “Hello.”

“Hi.” Daphne was suddenly shy. She couldn’t help but remember all the times she’d not behaved well towards Hermione Granger while they were at school. While she’d never gone so far as to insult the girl to her face, she’d never stood up for her either and had cer-tainly participated in more than one conversation in which the witch had been discussed in less-than-flattering terms.

“Breakfast….” Blaise moaned in a stilted monotone that, for some reason, Hermione found incredibly funny. Giggling, she gestured towards the empty chairs.

“Sit down. There’s tea and coffee and Effie will bring food in just a moment.” Blaise took the seat to Granger’s right and immediately grabbed the coffee urn, pouring himself a cup and adding three lumps of sugar. Granger glared at him, but said nothing. Daphne took the seat next to Blaise, which left Astoria to sit at Hermione’s left hand.

“I’m sorry for waking you all up so early.” Hermione spoke in a rush. “But some things happened yesterday that you need to know about and we all need to make some plans and….” Blaise held up a hand to stop the flow of words.

“First we eat, then we have a serious talk.” He declared. Hermione looked as if she was going to protest, but then thought better of it.

“All right.” She nodded. Turning to Astoria, she offered the younger girl a friendly smile. “Hello, Astoria. I’m not sure if we were ever properly introduced. I’m Hermione Granger. I was at Hogwarts with your sister and Blaise.”

“The same year?” Astoria asked, eagerly.

“Same year, different house.” Hermione said. “I was in Gryffindor.” Effie popped in just then, nearly invisible under a huge tray bearing four covered dishes. The tray was left to hover in the air and the little elf scampered around putting a dish in front of each f the diners and whipping off the cover with a flourish. The breakfast looked—and smelled—delicious. They had each been given a large serving of scrambled eggs, with several links of sausage, some potatoes, and a well buttered slice of toast. Daphne was both amused and a little disgusted at the way Blaise tore into the meal as if he hadn’t eaten in a week.

“Slow down, Blaise!” Hermione scolded, obviously sharing Daphne’s thoughts. “The food isn’t going anywhere. Honestly, you’re as bad as Ron.”

“You’ll have to forgive Blaise.” Astoria said, primly. “He was raised in a barn.”

“Hey-” Blaise started to protest, his cheeks bulging with sausage.

“Is for hippogriffs.” Daphne interjected. “Now, if you don’t want to be confined to the barn with them, I suggest you eat like a civilized human being.” Blaise grumbled, but obeyed. Astoria giggled.

“As I was saying,” Hermione turned back to her. “I was in Gryffindor. What house are you in?”

“Slytherin.” Astoria pouted. “Everyone was sorted into Slytherin last year.”

“Tori wanted to be a Hufflepuff.” Daphne explained. To her surprise, Granger did not immediately look horrified at the idea nor did she ask why Astoria would want such a thing. Instead, she gave Astoria’s hand a consoling pat.

“Don’t worry. I’m sure Professor McGonagall is planning on re-sorting everyone from your class who returns to Hogwarts.”

“Why isn’t Hogwarts reopening in September?” Daphne asked. She’d been curious about this ever since she’d received Professor McGonagall’s letter.

“The castle’s magic was very badly damaged during the battle.” Hermione explained. “Not only do the wards have to be completely rebuilt, but there are parts of the building that are structurally unsound and parts that were rather oddly affected by all the spells fly-ing around. Remember that swamp Fred and George Weasley made during our fifth year?” Daphne nodded. “It’s back and it’s now sitting in the Divination classroom. And there are now alligators and feral ducks in it. Professor Flitwick and George tried to re-move it, but all they did was make it deeper. And George got bitten by a duck. There’s a team consisting of members of the faculty, people the Department of Mysteries, and ex-perts from the I.C.W. there now. They’re having to go over the castle and grounds inch by inch and brick by brick. They told Professor McGonagall that there’s no way the school will be ready to open by September, but that it should be safe enough for NEWT-level students to come back in January.”

“What about the younger kids?” Blaise asked. “Are they all just going to skip a year?”

“Professor McGonagall is currently looking for a place where they can hold classes this year.” Hermione said. “It will be a day school and it probably won’t have as many sub-jects as Hogwarts. A lot of parents have decided to home school their children or send them to one of the schools on the Continent.” Her eyes flicked briefly to Astoria. For a moment, Daphne’s blood ran cold at the thought of her sister being sent away, but then she remembered that Hermione had just told Astoria that she would be resorted when she returned to Hogwarts. As if reading her thoughts, Hermione gave her a reassuring smile. The smile turned slightly wicked as her gaze shifted to Blaise.

“That’s one of the things I want to talk to you about, once someone decides that he’s not going to starve to death.” Blaise, who had just stuffed half a roll into his mouth, rolled his eyes. Astoria and Daphne giggled. After swallowing, Blaise made a florid gesture with his hand.

“You may proceed.” He said, in his haughtiest tones.

“Oh, thank you.” Hermione’s voice was a dry as toast, but then she was all business again. “To start with—Blaise, Daphne, do you want to go back to Hogwarts when it reo-pens in January or do you want to take your NEWTs at the Ministry??”

“We can do that?” Daphne felt her excitement stir in her stomach. She was sure Hermi-one knew what she was talking about—it was just the sort of thing the girl would have researched thoroughly. Hermione nodded, confirming her thoughts.

“Not many people know about it because the Department of Education didn’t want the hassle of giving the tests more than once a year, but the I.C.W. has basically taken over the whole department and are encouraging anyone who received an ‘EE’ or an ‘O’ on their OWLs, to take the NEWTs whenever they want. But, you can only take them once.”

“You’ve taken yours, I presume.” Blaise grinned, his mouth mercifully empty this time.

“Not yet.” Hermione shook her head. “They’re testing to the I.C.W. standard, which is a lot higher than the British standard, so the tests are harder than those we would have taken had we done them at Hogwarts in the usual way. I’m working with tutors and I’ll be tak-ing my tests in December. Unless you want to go back to Hogwarts, I’d like it if you would join me.” Daphne exchanged a quick glance with Blaise and they both shook their heads.

“We’ll join you.” Blaise answered for both of them. A brief, happy smile crossed Her-mione’s face.

“Wonderful! I’ll let my tutors know to expect you.”

“What about me?” Astoria asked, sounding slightly nervous. Hermione smiled at her.

“Unless you want to go to one of the international schools, I’m going to recommend that we get you some tutors too.” She paused, then glanced at Daphne before continuing. “How would you feel about studying some non-magical subjects?”

“Non-magical….like what?” Astoria’s brow furrowed in confusion.

“And why?” Daphne’s question came out a bit more harshly than she’d intended.

“Three reasons.” Hermione said. “One, if Astoria gets tutors for the subjects taught at Hogwarts, she’ll be far ahead of the rest of her year when the school reopens next year, especially as she’ll be a first-year. Since Professor McGonagall is adamant that students should stay with their year, rather than go into classes that are more appropriate to their skill level, that could become a problem.” Daphne had to concede that she had a very good point. “Second, Professor McGonagall is going to be incorporating some non-magical subjects into the curriculum and it would benefit Astoria to have a good ground-ing in them. Third,” she paused and Daaphne had the sense she was choosing her words carefully. “when we went to Hogwarts, we were taught what to think. I’d like Astoria to learn how to think and I think studying some non-magical subjects might help with that.” Daphne opened and closed her mouth, not really sure how to respond to that.

“What subjects did you have in mind?” Blaise asked.

“History,” Astoria’s happy gasp let Daphne know that her sister was completely sold on the idea “mathematics, literature, and, perhaps, some science.”

“Astoria?” Daphne asked, stalling for time as she tried to sort out her own feelings on the subject. “Do you want to study those subjects?”

“Oh, yes, please!” Astoria was practically bouncing up and down with excitement and Daphne had to smile.

“Well, that’s settled then.” She said, firmly. Astoria beamed. Meanwhile, Hermione was making notes on a sheet of….was that parchment? She was also using an instrument Daphne didn’t recognize. It was roughly the length of a quill and had a similar tip, but there were no feathers and she didn’t seem to need ink.

“Next.” Hermione looked up and her face was grave. “Daphne, have you given thought to which House you would like to join?” Daphne nodded.

While she didn’t have much good to say about her father, she did give him credit for mak-ing sure that she and Astoria had received a good and thorough education in politics; the history of British wizarding government, as well as the current political landscape. There-fore, she understood the importance of the decision she was being asked to make and its potential ramifications. She could also appreciate the way in which Hermione Granger was building something new under the guise of honoring old traditions. The idea excited her and she had considered her options carefully.

Blaise had already sworn himself to House Granger, so that was off the table. During their conversation yesterday, Hermione had let it slip that Blaise was the first vassal she’d sworn, which would mean he would take precedence over all other vassals of House Granger. Were Daphne to become part of House Granger, Blaise would, in many ways, be seen as her superior. Though Daphne was certain he would never abuse that position, she was also sure it would put an unnecessary strain on their relationship. It would be far better to join one of the other two Houses and be Blaise’s equal.

That meant she had to choose between House Potter and House Black. On the surface, there really wasn’t much difference between them. Both had the status of being both An-cient and Most Noble, both held seats on the Wizengamot, and both were rumored to be fabulously wealthy. Most importantly, both were currently headed by the same person—Harry Potter. However, there were some subtle differences that had to be considered. The House of Potter was approximately the same age as House Greengrass and both were about a hundred years older than the House of Black. House Potter was also free of the taints of madness and blood purity that had plagued House Black for the last century. However, the deciding factor for Daphne was Harry Potter himself. It was only a matter of time before he married and started having children of his own. One of those children would become Heir to House Potter and another would become Head of House Black (though Harry would certainly serve as regent until that child came of age).

Daphne didn’t know Harry Potter well, but what she did know led her to believe that he would treat honestly and honorably with his vassals. He wouldn’t force either her or As-toria into a marriage they didn’t want, and the fact that he’d made Hermione Granger his Seneschal told Daphne that he wouldn’t simply dismiss her ideas or expect her to take a backseat to his other vassals simply because she was female. She wasn’t sure she’d be able to say the same of his children. Before leaving school, Potter had been dating Ginny Weasley and, after he’d disappeared, Ginny had told anyone who would listen that she and Potter were going to get married once the war was over. While Daphne had her doubts as to whether this would actually happen, it was a possibility that had to be con-sidered carefully. While she was sure Potter could keep the Weaselette in line, she was also sure that Ginny would have a great deal of influence over any children they might have and that could prove to be problematic down the line.

“Yes.” Daphne drew in a deep breath. “I…we…would be honored to join House Potter.” Hermione beamed and, more importantly, so did Astoria. Daphne knew she really should have discussed her decision with her sister, but there simply hadn’t been time.

“Excellent! I’ll let Harry know. He’ll swing by tonight or tomorrow so you can swear the oaths and make everything official.” Daphne nodded in understanding. Due to the magi-cal nature of the oaths, this was one thing Hermione couldn’t do for him.

“Where is Potter?” Blaise asked. “There are all sorts of ridiculous rumors going around about him, you know.”

“Yes.” Hermione made a sour face. “And I’m sure most of them were started by Molly Weasley. The truth is that Harry is at Hogwarts. He’s helping to repair the damage that was done to the castle and he’s started working with that team I told you about. He’s also getting tutored for his NEWTs. I expect he’ll take his at the same time we take ours.”

“He’s not going back in January?” Daphne asked, somewhat surprised. She’d assumed that Potter would return, if only to be with his friends. Hermione shook her head.

“Harry really doesn’t like being the center of attention. He doesn’t want to be ‘The-Boy-Who-Lived’ or ‘The Chosen One’ or any of that. He just wants to be….Harry. You know what I mean?”

“Yeah.” To Daphne’s surprise, Blaise was nodding in understanding. “And the other kids won’t let him do that, will they?”

“No. They’ve known him for seven years, but they still….” She heaved a sad sigh. “An-yway, once he’s taken his NEWTs, Harry has been offered an internship in the Depart-ment of Mysteries and I think he plans on taking it.” Blaise gave an admiring whistle and Daphne completely shared the sentiment. Internships with the DoM weren’t offered often and they almost always went to people who already had established careers.

“What about his public duties?” Daphne asked. “He can’t just ignore those, no matter how much he may want to.” Hermione paused, then seemed to come to a decision about something.

“Before I say any more, I need you to promise me that you and Astoria won’t leave the house until you’ve sworn your oaths.” Before Daphne could object, she went on hastily. “These are Harry’s secrets, you see, and while I know you wouldn’t deliberately betray his trust…”

“The oaths will protect us.” Daphne nodded in understanding. “We’ll stay put and, just so you know, Astoria and I know Occlumency.”

“Really? Oh, that’s good!” Hermione looked relieved. “I was going to ask about that. Well, anyway, here’s the situation. Harry didn’t know about any of his public duties until after the war ended. Dumbledore and…others…conspired to keep him ignorant of the fact that he was the Head of House Potter and House Black.”

“Wait! Potter’s Head of House Black?” Blaise gaped. “When did that happen?”

“It’s…a long story and I’ll be happy to tell it all to you later.” Hermione said. “For now, it’s enough to say that the I.C.W. and Gringotts have recognized him as the Head of both families. For various reasons, both political and personal, Harry does not want to assume those responsibilities right now, but between them, Professor McGonagall and Kingsley Shacklebolt convinced him that he couldn’t ignore them either. A week ago, he named me his Seneschal.” Daphne’s mouth fell open in shock. “There’s more. As I told Blaise yesterday, the Ministry is currently being run by a Council that consists of representatives from the Wizengamot, the non-magical government, and the I.C.W. What I didn’t tell him was that I am on that Council.”

“You’re what?” Daphne couldn’t see herself, but she suspected that her expression fo shock mirrored the one on Blaise’s face. Hermione was blushing furiously.

“Again, it’s a long story. The important part is that the Queen…”

“Wait!” Blaise held up a hand. “What queen and what has she got to do with anything?”

“The Queen of Great Britain?” Hermione looked back and forth between Daphne and Blaise. “You do know that witches and wizards are citizens of Great Britain and subject to British law, don’t you?” she asked, finally.

“Since when?” Blaise asked. Hermione’s mouth actually fell open.

“This explains so much.” She muttered. “Okay, I’ll make this short and sweet. When the Statute of Secrecy was first proposed, witches and wizards in every country around the world had to get their country’s rulers to agree to it. Each ruler imposed slightly different conditions on that agreement. In England—the kingdom of Great Britain hadn’t yet been formed—the king signaled his agreement to the Statute by signing the Ministry’s Charter. In it, he agreed to allow witches and wizards to form a separate society on the condition that they continue to acknowledge the reigning non-magical monarch as their rightful rul-er, obeyed all laws passed by the non-magical government, and made no laws contradicto-ry to those passed by the magical government. The current British monarch is Queen El-eanor and she is not happy with her magical subjects.”

“I mean no offense to her Majesty,” Blaise said, carefully “but so what? It’s not like she can do anything about it.”

“She can revoke the Charter.” Hermione said, looking very serious. “If she does that, we will all be in a lot of trouble.”

“The I.C.W. will never let that happen….” Daphne gasped.

“They won’t have a choice.” Hermione looked grim. “The Queen has certain…resources at her disposal that will prevent any witch or wizard from tampering with her mind in any way. She doesn’t want to revoke the Charter, but she is not willing to let things go back to the way they were. As it happens, the I.C.W. agrees with her.”

“She’s appointed you to the Council.” Astoria gasped. “You’re one of the non-magical government’s representatives.” Daphne was slightly disappointed that Hermione didn’t seem at all surprised that Astoria was the one who had put the pieces together. She al-ways enjoyed seeing people who underestimated her little sister getting their hats handed to them.

“It’s more than that. She’s made me the Duchess of Avalon.” Daphne stared at the girl sitting across the table from her.

“You’re joking.” She whispered.

“I’m not.” Hermione nodded gravely.

“So, wait…” Blaise said. “You are, for all intents and purposes, Head of two Ancient and Noble Houses, on the Council that is trying to fix everything that is wrong with mag-ical Britain, and you want to take your NEWTs in December?”

“Believe it or not, it wasn’t too bad until now.” Hermione said, rather ruefully. “Nobody knew I was Harry’s Seneschal, so there wasn’t much to do on that front and nobody knew who was on the Council, so we could all get on with our work without too many interrup-tions or distractions.”

“What changed?” Daphne asked.

“Two things. First, there was an argument in the middle of the Ministry Atrium yester-day, during which one of my colleagues accidentally outed both himself and me as mem-bers of the Council. There was quite a crowd, including Edmund Parkinson and The Pink Toad, so I’m certain it will be front page news today.”

“I’m sorry, Pink Toad?” Astoria looked confused.

“She means Dolores Umbridge.” Blaise looked grim. “I thought for sure she’d wind up in Azkaban.” Hermione sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose.

“Remind me to tell you about that in a minute. For now, let me finish answering Daph-ne’s question. The second thing that changed is that you lot fell into my lap.” Hermi-one’s smile took any sting out of her words. “Since that was never going to remain quiet, Harry and I have taken steps to ensure that we control the story that gets told.” Blaise gasped.

“Rita Skeeter!” Hermione nodded.

“She works for me now. There is going to be a formal announcement in today’s Prophet concerning my appointment as the Potter-Black Seneschal and my adoption of Blaise. Daphne, once you’ve sworn your oaths, there will be a formal announcement about that, too. The only thing that’s still a secret is that I’m Duchess of Avalon. Hopefully, that won’t get out anytime soon.” Daphne’s mind was racing and so, it appeared, was Blaise’s.

“You can’ do this all by yourself.” He said.

“No, I can’t.” Hermione agreed. “Especially now that my life is about to become so much more…public. To make matters worse, before all of this happened, I told Professor McGonagall I’d do some research projects for her and I refuse to give those up. That’s why I’m offering both of you jobs.” Daphne felt her eyebrows rise. “Basically, I’d like to hire you both to serve as my personal assistants. Daphne, Blaise told me you want to earn a Mastery in law. Is that true?”

“Er…yes.” Daphne felt rather dazed.

“Good. I have a proposal for you….”


	4. Time-Travel Story

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is the beginning of an idea I had for a time-travel/fix-it fic. Be warned that this story skews a LOT darker than some of my other stuff. Detailed warnings below...

AUTHOR'S NOTES:  
Okay, so I have no idea what warped, twisted little demon born from my inner psyche inspired this story, but...here you go.  
WARNINGS - If ANY of the following makes you uncomfortable, please stop reading now!  
1\. This story is set in an AU where slavery exists in the magical world. It is an hereditary condition and is not based on race, religion, blood-status or any other physical, mental, or social characteristic.  
2 - There is nothing explicit, but past sexual abuse/rape of a minor is referenced.  
3 - Major character death (but then she gets better...)  
4 - Strong language

**  
Prologue

Hermione blinked, not quite sure whether to believe her eyes. She’d been pleasantly surprised to discover that the Apparition point in Crawley—the small suburb of London where she’d spent the first 11 years of her life—was still viable. So many others weren’t, after all, and she had factored enough time into her schedule to steal a car and drive several hours to her destination. But it seemed that the Hunters hadn’t discovered the Crawley Apparition point yet.

It just so happened that Crawley’s official Apparition point was located in a small park across the street from Number 27 Wellington Road, Hermione’s childhood home. She could see the house from the small copse of trees in which she was hiding and it looked…completely unchanged. Indeed, none of the houses on the street looked like they’d been touched by the wars that had raged throughout both the magical and muggle worlds in recent years. Except for the fact that there were no lights in any of the windows, one could be excused for thinking that time had forgotten about Wellington Road.

There was a slight change in the air pressure as Severus Snape appeared next to her.

“What do you think?” she asked, keeping her voice low and gesturing towards the pristine buildings in front of them. “Trap?”

“Most definitely.” He nodded. “The question is, is it meant for you or someone else?”

“Only one way to find out.” Without bothering to draw out her wand, Hermione began silently casting several very old scrying and scanning spells-spells that would, hopefully, go unrecognized by the so called “Ministry of Magic.” After a moment, she breathed a sigh of relief. “It looks like it’s a general snare for the unwary, not a targeted trap. That’s probably why the Apparition point was left active. There are ward lines around the park—cross those without protection and the Hunters will be on you faster than you can say ‘Quidditch.’ I’ll check again once we’re closer, but it doesn’t look like there’s anything on my house.” 

“Very well.” Snape checked his watch. “It’s 8:30 now. Do you want to wait here until it’s time or…?”

“I’d rather wait inside.” Hermione shivered slightly. It was mid-September, so the air was still quite warm, but she felt very exposed. “Besides, I want to be sure that the old man didn’t leave any….surprises…that might interfere with the ritual. That will take some time.”

“Agreed.” With a fluid motion, Snape stood from his crouch and held out a hand to her. “Shall we, Miss Granger?”

**

It was nearly midnight. The knot of dread that had been growing in Severus’ stomach all evening was now making it hard for him to breathe, but he did his best not to let his fear show. He knew that the task he had to perform tonight was necessary—vital, even—and that if the plan succeeded, all might yet be well. He also knew, however, that what they were going to do would unleash a terrible backlash of magical energy. If the plan failed, he was certain that this backlash would render him unconscious (if he survived at all) and that it would be like a beacon in the darkness to the Hunters. Were he to be captured alive… he shuddered at the thought.

Even if all of their research and testing paid off and the past could be changed, there was no way to guarantee that things would be better. They were both well aware that they were not working with all the facts—that making one change would irrevocably alter the fabric of reality, making it more and more difficult to predict the outcome as time went on. However, Severus found that he completely agreed with Hermione’s assessment that the potential reward was well worth the risk. Things, as she had pointed out, could hardly get any worse than they were now.

They were standing in Hermione’s old bedroom and Severus had a very hard time believing the young woman he knew had been responsible for picking out the décor. There were unicorns, for Merlin’s sake! And they were pink. There was also a rather disgusting number of teddy bears strewn about the furniture and, worst of all, on the walls. One poster featured teddy bears doing ballet while another featured them in a gross mockery of an old-fashioned family portrait. Hermione caught him looking at them and blushed—he hadn’t realized she could still do that.

“I was eight when I picked them out.” She explained. “My mother would never let me take them down afterwards.”

“Why not?” he asked, curious despite himself.

“She claimed that she didn’t have time to find something else that matched the wallpaper. Frankly, I think she just wanted to pretend that I was still a little girl.”

“It’s almost time.” Severus said, gently. Wordlessly, Hermione nodded. She sat down on the bed and he was faintly amused to see that she kicked off her shoes before re-positioning herself so that her back was against the mound of pillows that obscured the headboard. They had already drawn the runes on the floor and Severus was careful not to step on any of them as he moved to stand by her head. Hesitantly, he reached out and pushed her hair off her face. She gave him a nervous smile.

“It will be all right.” She said, softly. He wondered whether she said it to convince him or herself.

“I’m sure it will. Here.” He handed her the first potion. She drank it down in one swallow, making a face at the taste.

“Maybe this time around, we’ll figure out how to make potions that don’t taste like troll piss.” She was slurring her words slightly. Severus took the bottle from her unresisting hand and placed it on the bedside table. Glancing at the clock, he opened the second bottle. He had to help her hold it and when she was finished, he could see her eyes were already clouding over.

“Good luck.” He was fairly sure that was the last thing she heard as her eyes closed. Once he was sure she was asleep, he drew out his wand and began to chant, using the language of the Ancients so that, should their plan fail, no one else would be able to determine just what they had been up to. The runes on the floor began to glow and he felt the energy begin to build. Faintly, as if from a great distance, he heard the sounds of multiple Apparitions, but he neither faltered nor hurried. It was one minute to midnight.

Severus could see the magic swirling around Hermione’s body now, burning away her clothes until she was naked as the day she had been born. Some small part of his mind that was not occupied by the spell observed the scars on her torso from the Battle at the Department of Mysteries, the filthy word that Bellatrix LeStrange had carved into her arm, and the more recent, partially healed welts on her legs from the second visit to Malfoy Manor. As the chant neared its climax and the Hunters smashed through the front door and encountered the first trap, Severus’ eyes were drawn to the mark on the back of her right hand—it was the twin of his own, save for the fact that his was silver and hers was gold. It announced to the world their relationship of Master and Slave. It was, he hoped, the only mark she would carry in her new life.

There were footsteps on the stairs as the clock began to strike midnight. The chant complete, Severus picked up the dagger he had prepared for this occasion. At the last stroke, just as the door behind him was flung open, Severus plunged the dagger into Hermione’s chest. The last thing he saw as he fell over her body, was her Mark, glowing brighter than the sun.

**

CHAPTER 1

Hermione woke with a gasp. Instinctively, her hand flew to her chest, though the searing pain that had awakened her was already fading. She blinked several times, somewhat startled by the darkness in the room. What had happened to the mage lights she and Severus had conjured? Before she could organize her thoughts, she heard a loud thump from outside her door, followed by a startled yelp.

“Fuck!”

“Daniel, language!”

“Sorry, dear. I tripped over Farley.”

“Well keep it down. You’ll wake up Hermione.” There was a pause.

“Emma, where’s the torch? The one that’s supposed to live in the hall closet?”

“I don’t know, dear. When did you use it last?”

“I had it out the other day when I was helping John Gillingham with his car….oh fuck!”

“Daniel!”

It had worked! Hermione stared into the darkness, hardly daring to believe her ears. It had actually worked. Slowly raising one hand, she cast a nonverbal, wandless tempus charm and nearly shouted with delight—12:01 AM, September 19, 1990. With some trepidation, she ran her hands up and down her torso. No breasts. She’d have to check the mirror carefully in the morning, but it appeared that things had gone exactly as planned. Her twenty-nine year old soul or consciousness or whatever you wanted to call it was now in the body that had just turned eleven.

There was another thump and another yelp.

“Damn dog! What are you doing up here, anyway?” Hermione stifled a giggle and threw the covers off. She almost fell getting out of the bed—she’d forgotten how short she used to be—but recovered quickly and worked her way around the room by touch until she came to her desk. The torch was in the top, right-hand drawer where she always kept it. Quickly, she turned it on and shone its beam on the back of her right hand. She breathed a sigh of relief. She and Severus had hypothesized that the Mark of Mastery would not be transferred back to her younger body, but she’d had to make sure. The Mark was immune to Glamour charms or other magical forms of disguise and eleven-year old Hermione certainly didn’t have any Muggle makeup or concealer in her room. She had no idea how she would have explained its presence to her parents or Professor McGonagall.

Professor McGonagall….Hermione’s heart clenched as she thought of her professor, her mentor and the hero she’d worshipped throughout her time at Hogwarts and beyond. In the end, Minerva had been forced to betray them, but Hermione couldn’t fault her for the choice she’d made. Things were going to be different this time. She would make sure of it. 

There was yet another thump and yet another yelp outside her door and Hermione sighed. First things first—she had to keep her father from killing himself or her dog.

“Dad!” She yelled, somewhat startled at how young her voice sounded. “What are you doing?”

“Just trying to find the torch, sweetheart. The power’s gone out.”

“I’ve got one. Hang on.” As she made her way to the door, Hermione tried to remember if there had been any kind of power outage on her birthday in the first timeline. She didn’t think there had been. Idly, she wondered if the backlash of the spell that had sent her soul back through time was responsible. 

After handing over the torch and bringing Farley into her room, saving both the dog and her father from further pain, Hermione climbed back into bed, settled the pillows against the headboard and began to plan.

**  
The meeting with Professor McGonagall had gone exactly as it had the first time around. Hermione had had to work to pretend to be excited about going to a school where she would learn how to ride a broom and make teapots dance (as if either of those things was even remotely practical), but she’d pulled it off and Professor McGonagall had seemed pleased with the prospect of having such an eager student in her charge.

Hermione’s birthday had fallen on a Sunday that year, so the next morning, she’d been sent off to school. One morning in a Muggle classroom was enough to convince her that she had far better uses for her time, so she spent the afternoon using magic to alter the perceptions of her teacher and classmates. From now on, her teachers would have vague memories of her waving her hand in class and answering questions and turning in homework. Her classmates would remember that she’d annoyed them with information they considered useless and that they’d retaliated by alternately snubbing her and calling her nasty names. On the bus that afternoon, she finished the job by giving the driver memories of seeing her get on and off every day. 

The next morning, Hermione waved good-bye to her parents and walked to the bus stop, which was on the corner of Wellington Road and King’s Way. As usual, she was the first one there, so it wasn’t difficult to hide behind a large oak tree and Apparate away. The destination she’d chosen was Mrs. Dockery’s attic. Mrs. Dockery was a widow who had lived next door to the Grangers since before Hermione had been born. She was funny, wise, a terrific cook, and a terrible housekeeper. She’d shown Hermione the attic once and it was full of junk, with the only clear spaces being near the trap-door that led to the rest of the house and the window at the far end of the room. Though Hermione had never had a reason to come home after the war, she’d often thought that Mrs. Dockery’s attic would make a good base of operations.

She spent the second morning in her new life carefully warding the attic space and making it substantially more comfortable, immensely grateful that Severus had been merciless in his insistence that she learn to cast both windlessly and non-verbally. It took a while to shrink all the junk and pile it in one corner, but when that was done, Hermione was able to place both a Notice-Me-Not charm and a Muggle Repellant charm on the trap door. She was careful to make as little noise as possible; Mrs. Dockery had ears like a bat, and the last thing she wanted was to be discovered before her work was complete. 

Once the space was cleared and cleaned, Hermione moved the full length mirror she’d found to a spot near the window. Standing before it, she began casting glamours and transfigurations on herself, until she was staring at a plump, middle-aged woman with light brown hair who bore a vague resemblance to Molly Weasley. Satisfied with her new look, Hermione Apparated to the courtyard behind the Leaky Cauldron.

Fortunately, she had learned in the previous timeline that one did not actually need a wand to get onto the Alley, one simply had to apply magical energy to the right brick. Severus had taught her the trick and she remembered asking him why people wasted their time tapping a bunch of different bricks with their wands before finally hitting the right one.

“Because,” Snape had snorted in derision “it’s the way things have always been done.”

Once on the Alley, Hermione made her way towards Gringotts. There was an alley that ran between the bank and the cauldron shop next door. After checking to be sure the alley was empty, Hermione slipped in and dismantled all of the glamours and illusions. The wards of the bank would have canceled them anyway and she’d learned the hard way that the goblins did not like people going into their bank with any kind of disguise. She’d nearly had a heart attack the first time she’d gone to the bank after the war and found herself surrounded by armed guards simply because she’d chosen to cover the disgusting scar on her arm.

Later, when tempers had cooled and she’d learned of her heritage, she’d asked Wirefang why nothing had happened when she’d come into the bank Polyjuiced to look like Bellatrix LeStrange.

“Ragnok’s orders.” Wirefrang had nearly spit the words out and Hermione had not pressed the issue . Really, there had been no need to as she knew exactly what he meant. 

It was fortunate that Diagon Alley was almost empty as even witches and wizards would have questioned why a child in Muggle clothes was entering the bank. Fortunately, goblins weren’t so nosy. There were only a few customers in the bank, all of whom were too intent on their own business to pay her any mind. Hermione walked up to the first free teller.

“Yes?” 

“My name is Hermione Granger. I’d like a Heritage Test, please.” The goblin arched his eyebrow, but nodded. He pulled a piece of parchment from a stack near his elbow, wrote quickly, then handed her the quill. 

“Prick your right index finger with this and let three drops fall onto the parchment.” He instructed. She did as she was told and watched as the parchment began to fill with a family tree. She remembered the wonder she felt the first time she’d seen this happen and felt somewhat wistful as she wondered if she’d ever have that feeling again. To his credit, the only sign of surprise on the goblin’s face was the slight lifting of his eyebrows. “One moment please.” Taking the parchment, he hopped down off his stool and walked through one of the many doors lining the hall. A moment later he returned and beckoned to her.

Hermione was shown to a small, comfortable office. The teller (whose name was Griphook) introduced her to Account Manager Wirefang. Hermione resisted the temptation to bow and greet him properly—after all, Ragnok was still in charge at Gringotts and until he was removed, there was always a chance that information might get back to Dumbledore. She was certain Wirefang wouldn’t discuss this meeting—to do so would be to violate client confidentiality and even Ragnok would not stoop so low—but a Muggle-born child who knew the goblin ways was sure to be a topic of discussion within the bank.

“Miss Granger.” Because she was just an ordinary human to him, Wirefang did not indulge in any of the niceties of goblin protocol. “As you requested, you have been given a Heritage Test. I am pleased to inform you that you are the first magical descendant of the Dagworth line in over fifty years.”

“Really?” Hermione didn’t bother pretending to be surprised or excited about this news. “May I ask what that entails?”

“The Dagworth line holds the status of being an Ancient House. You do not have a family seat on the Wizengamot, but you may stand for election to the Assembly. You now possess two Gringotts vaults—one containing books, furniture, jewelry and other assorted goods and the other containing….” He paused as he glanced at his notes “130,326 Galleons, 782 Sickles and three Knuts. You also own patents for a number of Potions recipes and interest in a small Apothecary shop in Wales. You also own one slave. His name is Severus Snape and he is currently employed as Professor of Potions at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.”

“Thank you. Are you to be my Account Manager?”

“I am.” He nodded.

“Good.” Hermione leaned forward. “I would like you to activate your Privacy Protocols, please.” Wirefang looked surprised, but did as he was asked, pressing a panel on the side of his desk. Hermione felt relief wash over her as she wards went up. “Thank you. Have you a Truth Stone, Master Wirefang?” 

“I do.” Obviously intrigued, he reached into a drawer and pulled out a rock that looked like it could have made a good paperweight. He placed it on the desk in front of her and Hermione placed her hand on it.

“I, Hermione Jean Granger, do solemnly swear that what I say is the truth.” She looked Wirefang in the eye. “Director Ragnok has betrayed Gringotts and the Goblin Nation. He has allowed Albus Dumbledore access to the Potter vaults, even though Dumbledore is not Harry Potter’s legal guardian. He has allowed both Dumbledore and the Minister of Magic to pillage the Black family vaults, even though Sirius Black has never been tried—let alone convicted for his alleged crimes. He has attempted to subjugate the magic of the Record Scrolls to hide this fact, though he is not aware that he has not succeeded. So I say, so mote it be.” The stone flashed a bright white for a moment and Hermione made sure to keep her hand on it until the light had fully faded away. When it was just a rock again, she sat back and looked at Wirefang, arching an eyebrow.

“How….do you know this?” he asked, looking and sounding unnerved.

“It is rather a long story and I will be happy to share it with you, but I’d only like to have to go through it once.” Hermione said, quietly. “Would you mind sending a letter to Severus Snape and asking him to come to the bank? Say only that it concerns business of House Dagworth and that he should not repeat this fact to Albus Dumbledore.”

“Very well.” Wirefang said. “When would you like to meet with him?”

“Tomorrow morning.” Hermione replied. “Nine o’clock.”

“Very well.” Wirefang nodded. “Will that be all?”

“I would like to withdraw some money from my vaults today, please.” Two nauseating cart trips later, Hermione walked out of the bank with a bag full of Galleons. Slipping back into the alley—which she was convinced had been placed there for just this purpose—she resumed her disguise. Two hours later, she appeared back in Mrs. Dockery’s attic, her arms full of books.

**

Mr. Snape – 

Your presence is required at Gringotts Bank for a meeting concerning matters related to House Dagworth. Present yourself at the Bank at nine o’clock tomorrow morning. Ask for Wirefang. If you must inform Albus Dumbledore of your departure, do not tell him the reason for the meeting. Destroy this letter after you have read it.

Wirefang  
Account Manager  
Gringotts Wizarding Bank

**

Severus Snape stared at the letter in shock. It was the very last thing he’d expected to receive on a Tuesday evening in September. He had absolutely no desire to discuss the business of House Dagworth, but then again, he had no choice. He was, after all, only a slave. With a snarl, Severus threw the letter into the fire. After he was certain it was nothing more than ash, he threw a pinch of Floo powder into the flames and stuck his head in.

“Albus Dumbledore.”

After a moment, his vision cleared and he saw the Headmaster’s office. The man himself was lounging in his throne-like chair, sucking on a lemon drop.

“Severus, my boy.” The candy garbled his words somewhat, but Albus didn’t seem to care. “What can I do for you?”

“I have been summoned to Gringotts for a meeting tomorrow morning at nine.”

“Oh? And what is this meeting to be about?”

“I do not know.” When a moment passed without Severus falling dead and then another, he heaved a silent sigh of relief. 

“Very well.” Dumbledore said, after swallowing his candy. “I will ask Minerva to cancel your morning classes. I expect you back by lunch.” With an airy wave of his hand, the Headmaster cut the connection. Growling, Severus pulled his head out of the fire and returned to his own significantly less ornate chair.

As he turned the matter over in his mind, the implications of his summons began to sink into Severus’ mind. He had been ordered not to tell Dumbledore the reason for the meeting. This had required lying to the Headmaster, a flagrant violation of the oaths he’d sworn as a young man. That he’d done this and survived meant only one thing—that the order, though it had been written by the hand of a goblin, had come directly from a member of House Dagworth. He had an owner, at last.

Severus wasn’t really sure how he felt about this. On the one hand, it meant that there was every possibility he would be taken out of this castle and away from the wretched Headmaster. On the other, it could be a case of going from the cauldron to the fire if his new Master was someone like Lucius Malfoy. Severus shuddered and offered a prayer to the Elder Gods that his new master wasn’t Lucius Malfoy. 

Severus Snape had been born a slave. His mother had been descended from a long line of slaves belonging to the Dagworth family. The last Dagworth—Hector—had died when his grandmother was pregnant with her first child. Everyone had thought that Hector was the last Dagworth, but at the will reading, it had been discovered that he’d had a younger brother, a Squib who had been sent to the Muggle world when he was just a baby. Since the line was still active, the goblins had refused to close the account and Severus’ grandmother and her children had remained the property of House Dagworth.

Since there had been no magical members of House Dagworth to take charge of the slaves, the Ministry had taken over, renting Severus’ grandmother’s services and those of her children to any witch or wizard willing to pay the price. Severus sneered as he thought about what those “services” might have been. Both his grandmother and mother had been comely women and he was well aware that he had been conceived while his mother was fulfilling one of her Ministry “contracts.” 

His mother, Eileen, had been the last child born to Serena Snape. All of her brothers and sisters had died relatively young, worn out by too much work and lack of proper care. Eileen had gone the same way, dying when Severus was only five. Even then, Severus had known what was to happen to him and had already been sent on several “contracts” with his mother. While his temporary masters hadn’t abused him—and one had even been kind—he was well aware that there was very little likelihood he would still be a virgin when he got to Hogwarts and there was nothing he could do about it. The first time he’d been sent out after her death, he’d wound up in the home of one Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. 

Severus remembered how terrified he’d been when the Ministry official had left him alone with the old man. He’d heard the stories and Dumbledore seemed like just the sort who would order a little boy to pull up his robes and come to Daddy. But Dumbledore hadn’t done that. Instead, he’d offered Severus a lemon drop and asked him if he knew how to read. Three days later, Dumbledore had announced that he had purchased Severus’ contract from the Ministry and that, until House Dagworth was revived, he would be Severus’ new master.

At first, Severus had been thrilled. While Dumbledore certainly hadn’t shown him anything in the way of love or affection and had always taken care to remind Severus of his place in the world, he’d fed a young boy’s thirst for knowledge and had not demanded anything too onerous of him. It wasn’t until Severus had started at Hogwarts that he’d realized exactly how much—or little—he meant to Albus Dumbledore.

Dumbledore had ordered him not to reveal either his status as a slave or their relationship to one another to any of the other students. The old man had crafted a believable backstory—poor but respectable Pure-blood mother who defied her family to marry a Muggle-born wizard—and ordered him to do well in his studies, then had completely ignored him. Severus had remained at the school during holidays and had never seen or spoken to his Master alone. It wasn’t until Horace Slughorn had called him into the office just before Christmas Break during Severus’ third year that he’d learned that his contract had been temporarily transferred to his Head of House.

“Severus!” Slughorn had looked positively gleeful as he’d waved his wand, shutting the door and activating the locking charms. “Dumbledore’s just told me….was shocked when I found out….thrilled, mind you, but shocked…..”

“Sir?” Severus remembered his confusion. Even now, he cursed himself for how innocent and naïve he’d been back then. “I’m sorry, but what has Professor Dumbledore told you?”

“That’s you’re his slave, of course! He’s assigned your contract to me for the remainder of your time at school. I’m to make a Potions Master of you—not a difficult task since you’ve clearly a knack for the subject.”

“I….ah….thank you, Master.” Severus had been stunned by the news, but not necessarily displeased. While he didn’t particularly care for his Head of House and the way he showed favoritism, he was well aware that the man knew a lot about Potions and to have Slughorn as his personal tutor was…

“Of course, it won’t all be beakers and cauldrons, you know…” Severus caught the strange glint in Slughorn’s eye and began to feel a bit nervous. “We’ll have ourselves some fun, too.”

“Fun, Master?”

“Take off your robes. Slave.”

Severus Snape had lost his virginity that day, bent over Horace Slughorn’s desk with a Silencing Charm preventing him from venting his agony. Over the next four and a half years, Slughorn had molded him into his ideal plaything. During the day, they would study Potions together and at night, Slughorn would extract his payment for this tuition from Severus’ flesh. While Severus never learned to enjoy Slughorn’s “attentions” he learned to tolerate it, recognizing that the sooner he gave the man what he wanted (Slughorn loved to hear him beg for more), the sooner it would all be over.

Dumbledore had nothing to do with him during this time and Slughorn had ordered him to keep their sexual relationship a secret, so Severus couldn’t confide in anyone about his torment. The only pleasures he had in life were the times he spent in the Potions laboratory and the time spent with his only friend, a Gryffindor by the name of Lily Evans. They’d met their first week of classes and had been friends ever since, despite the best efforts of their respective houses to come between them. Lily’s friendship was the one thing in Severus’ life that hadn’t been tainted by his slavery and he’d treasured it all the more for that.

Severus had been surprised when, during the Easter break of his fifth year, Professor Dumbledore had called him up to his office.

“Ah, Severus. I wanted to let you know that I’ve recalled your contract from Horace.”

“Thank you, sir.” Looking back on it, Severus realized he should have known it was too good to be true.

“He will still give you extra tuition in Potions and you will continue to….entertain him in the evenings.” Dumbledore said, as if Severus hadn’t spoken. “However, I have some work for you as well. First things first—some time before the end of the year, you will end your friendship with Lily Evans. I don’t care when you do it and I don’t really care how, so long as it happens before she leaves on the Express and she understands and believes that you have no desire for her company anymore. Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir…”

“Ah-ah-ah! What was that?” Dumbledore wagged his finger playfully. 

“Yes, Master.” Severus barely whispered the words.

“Good. Once you’ve broken it off with Miss Evans, you will become friendly with Lucius Malfoy and his associates. I know that they are interested in courting you on behalf of their Dark Lord. You will slowly warm up to the idea and by the end of next year, you will agree to meet with him. If all goes well, he will want to give you his Mark next summer.”

As he stared into the flames of the dying fire, the old rage boiled up in Severus Snape’s breast and, as he always did, he pushed it down. Tomorrow, he would get a new Master and he could only hope they weren’t any worse than Albus fucking Dumbledore.

**

Eleven years old. She was eleven years old. In all his wildest fantasies and nightmares (including one where he’d wound up the property of Harry Potter), Severus had never imagined being owned by an eleven-year old Muggle-born girl. 

He had taken the Floo to the Leaky Cauldron and presented himself at the bank, precisely at nine o’clock. One of the tellers had taken him to Wirefang’s office, where he had been informed that a magical member of the Dagworth family had claimed her inheritance. She had been detained, Wirefang said, by needing to meet with the new Director of the Bank and would be there presently. That was when Wirefang had broken the news.

“You should know, Mr. Snape, that Miss Granger is an eleven-year old girl who only received her invitation to Hogwarts a few days ago.”

“What?” Snape had gaped at him, wondering whether or not “An eleven-year old….how is that possible? And Granger…I don’t recognize the name. Surely she’s not a Muggle-born….”

“She is.” Wirefang said. “Yet she possesses a remarkable amount of knowledge about our world. It is thanks to her that Director Tirfal owes his promotion. When she was here yesterday, she placed her hand on a Truth Stone and told me that Director Ragnok had committed crimes against the Bank and the Nation. When I asked her how she had come to know these things, she promised to tell her tale once you were present.”

“That is….intriguing.” Severus admitted.

“Isn’t it?” Wirefant smirked. “As I said, Tirfal requested her presence and…” He stopped speaking as, with a flash of light, a scroll appeared on the desk in front of him. Carefully, he broke the wax seal and unrolled it. He drew in a sharp breath, his eyes flicking to Severus, before he rolled up the scroll and carefully placed it in a drawer. Severus didn’t bother to ask. It wasn’t his place, after all. The pair sat in silence until three was a knock on the door.

“Enter.” Wirefang called, standing. Severus did likewise. The door opened and an armed goblin ushered a young girl in Muggle clothing into the room. She had wild, bushy brown hair, buck teeth and eyes that were far too old. The guard bowed to her and withdrew, closing the door behind him.

“Hail Wirefang, Noblest of Goblins.” The girl said, her face and tone completely serious. “May our time together be profitable to us and devastating to our enemies.” Wirefang looked startled, but recovered quickly.

“Hail, Friend Granger. May you find peace within our halls and victory without!” The formalities over, the girl turned to Severus. He was surprised—astounded even—to see her face light up with joy for the briefest of moments before her expression returned to one of neutrality. 

“Potions Master Snape.” She gave him a little bow.

“Mistress.” As custom dictated, Severus knelt before her. “I am yours to command.” Her response wasn’t quite what he’d expected.

“Oh crap.” She muttered. “I forgot about that. Severus, please stand up.” Slowly, he did as instructed. “Good. Now, take a seat and please look at me, not the floor.” Slowly, Severus sat down and raised his eyes to meet hers. They were brown and warm and he saw a wealth of emotions in them that defied description. “Thank you.” She said, softly. Wirefang cleared his throat. 

“Friend Granger, yesterday you said you had a story to tell.”

“I did.” She nodded. “Could you please bring out the Truth Stone again? I think it will save all of us a lot of aggravation if it can just be taken as a given that I am neither lying or imagining things.” Wirefang nodded and placed the rock on his desk. “Please feel free to ask questions….both of you.” When they both nodded their agreement, she sighed, sat back in her chair and placed her hand on the stone.

“I, Hermione Jean Granger, do solemnly swear that what I say is the truth. At midnight on September 19, 2009, I performed the Ritual with the assistance of Potions Master Snape. My soul or consciousness or personality matrix or memories or whatever you want to call it was sent back in time to my eleven year old body.”

“But how…” Wirefang gasped. “That ritual is said to be nothing more than a legend.”

“All legends have some basis in reality.” Hermione said. “This one is no exception. I won’t bore you with all the details of our research but I can tell you that we found a text that contains a broad outline of the ritual in the Library of Alexandria.” Snape’s eyes nearly popped out of his head.

“You’ve been to the Library of Alexandria?” He suddenly remembered himself and blushed, looking down at the floor. “My apologies, Mistress…”

“First of all, please don’t call me Mistress.” Her voice was gentle, soothing. “I understand that it is hard for you to call me by my first name, but you can call me Miss Granger. I’m used to that. And, to answer your question, we’ve been to the Library of Alexandria.”

“We?” Severus couldn’t help himself.

“We.” He could practically hear her smile. “I’ll tell you all about it later.”

“But…your soul…why would you do such a thing?” Wirefang asked, clearly not caring one whit for the Library of Alexandria. Hermione sighed.

“The future I come from was…..” she paused, obviously searching for the right word “terrible. In June of 1995, Tom Riddle, otherwise known as Lord Voldemort was resurrected. Two years later, Albus Dumbledore supposedly died. A year after that, Harry Potter walked into the Forbidden Forest and willingly took a Killing Curse. He survived and Riddle was defeated and destroyed once and for all. Four years later, Dumbledore returned and accused Harry of being a new Dark Lord. He challenged Harry to a duel. Harry lost.” There was no joy in her now, only pain and anger.

“Dumbledore took over then and people just….they just let him.” For a moment, Hermione sounded like the child she appeared to be. Severus looked up and saw, not his owner but a scared little girl. “He told us….those of us who knew the real Harry…that we’d all be all right if we just kept our mouths shut.” She laughed then, but there was no humor to it. “Clearly, he hadn’t been paying attention. Ginny Weasley—she was Harry’s wife—tried to hex him on the spot. He had the Aurors take her away. She ended up locked in the Ivory Tower.” Severus shuddered. The Ivory Tower was Wizarding Britain’s premiere insane asylum. 

“Ginny’s brothers tried to lead a resistance movement, but one of them betrayed the others. They were rounded up and thrown into Azkaban.”

“And you?” Severus asked, quietly.

“By that time, I had claimed my Heritage and won a seat on the Wizengamot.” Hermione said. “Dumbledore thought he could use me. I let him think that until I was ready to make my move. I led a revolt in the Wizengamot. We…we thought we’d won, but then Dumbledore did something none of us expected. He broke the International Statute of Secrecy. He used a combination of Legillimency and the Imperius curse on top officials in the Muggle government and forced them to reveal the existence of witches and wizards to the world. That started a series of wars—first with some member countries of the I.C.W. and then with the Muggles themselves.”

“That must have been….” Severus was at a loss for words.

“Devastating.” Hermione said. “Thanks to his arrogance, Albus Dumbledore single-handedly destroyed the Wizarding world—not just in Britain, but all over the world. By the time the wars were over, there were no organized communities left, only small groups and families of witches and wizards. Everyone who was left either lived in hiding, terrified to cast anything stronger than a Lumos charm or they agreed to work for the Muggle government as Hunters, searching out those with magic who hadn’t agreed to subjugate themselves.”

“And Dumbledore?” Wirefang was practically snarling.

“He disappeared.” Hermione scowled. “About six months ago….er….that is, six months ago my time. Things were pretty chaotic—after the Muggle governments killed most of the witches and wizards, they turned on each other. A lot of nasty little Muggle wars broke out and then someone got the bright idea to start dropping nuclear bombs….”

“Sweet Merlin….” Severus moaned.

“Interestingly enough, while London received a direct hit, the radiation was dispelled within an hour.” Hermione said. “Credible rumors credit Albus Dumbledore and suggest that he made some kind of deal with what was left of the British Muggle government to protect them in exchange for his freedom. At least four million people died, either as a direct result of the blast or from injuries sustained when buildings collapsed.”

“That is when you decided to attempt the ritual?” Wirefang asked.

“That was when we started making firm plans, yes.” Hermione nodded. “We had talked about it before then, but until London was bombed, we weren’t sure it was worth the risk.”

“If I may ask….” Severus began, hesitantly.

“Please.” Hermione gave him an encouraging smile.

“Why did you come back so far? You won’t be able to start Hogwarts for another year…”

“There were several reasons.” She said, looking thoughtful. “First and foremost, we realized that the ritual had to be anchored on my birthday. Since we didn’t know what the physical or mental effects of undergoing the ritual would be, we decided it would be better if I woke up in my bed at home, rather than in the Gryffindor dorm. Also, we thought it would be a good idea for the two of us to meet…er…properly before I become your student. I wanted to have ample time to put some plans in motion before I have to deal with Dumbledore and there are some things we both need to learn before I arrive at Hogwarts.”

“How can Gringotts be of assistance?” Wirefang asked.

“For now, there are two requests I would make of you.” Hermione said, smoothly shifting to the more formal language the goblins preferred. “First, I ask that you not inform the Ministry or the Wizengamot that I have claimed my Heritage. If all goes well, I will ‘officially’ become Hermione Dagworth-Granger on my seventeenth birthday.” Wirefang nodded. “Second, I would ask that a cursed object be removed from one of the vaults and destroyed.”

“That is a….serious request.” Wirefang said, carefully. “What is this object, in whose vault does it reside, and why should Gringotts accede to this request.”

“The object is a cup that once belonged to Helga Hufflepuff.” Hermione replied. “It is currently in the vault belonging to Bellatrix LeStrange. It houses a piece of Tom Riddle’s soul.”

“It’s a Horcrux?” Severus stared at her, aghast. “You are certain of this?”

“I am.” Hermione nodded. “It is one of six. In my timeline, a seventh was made, but I hope that Riddle will be dealt with before that happens.”

“That is magic most foul.” Wirefang snarled. “It is forbidden to keep such things at Gringotts. Should this prove to be true, the LeStrange vault will be seized!”

“Can you do that without alerting the Ministry?” Hermione asked, concerned. “Dumbledore knows about the Horcruxes, though he doesn’t know where all of them are at the moment. I’d rather not give him a chance to get his hands on them.”

“I shall need to speak to Tirfal, but I see no reason why anyone needs to know about this. Wirefang nodded. “We can always leave that one until last. You say you know where the others are?”

“I do.” Hermione nodded. “One thing I’d like to do this year is to collect the ones I can. I’ll need your help with that.” She added, turning to Severus.

“Of course.” He nodded. “I am yours to command.” She opened her mouth as if to say something, then seemed to think better of it.

“There are two that are going to be somewhat…problematic.” She said. “One is a locket, which is currently in a house that is under the Fidelius charm. The house belongs to Sirius Black, but he’s currently in Azkaban and Dumbledore is going to do his damndest to make sure he stays there until the time is right. The second is lodged within Harry Potter.”


	5. Gratior Orbis

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An oldie but goodie. I wrote this a number of years ago for some sort of challenge (Rough Trade, I think) and posted it under the author name Firebird9030.  
> This is my take on the "Harry-goes-rogue-after-Sirius'-death" trope. It was also written with the intention of being Harry/Harem.

**GRATIOR ORBIS**

By Firebird9030

**Summary:**

After Sirius Black falls through the Veil, Harry Potter learns that forces have conspired to keep him from his true legacy. When he claims his inheritance, he discovers that it comes with vast magical and political power and he decides that the Wizarding World is in dire need of some re-direction. With the help of his friends, he works to make the world a better place for everyone. Naturally, this does not go as planned....

**General Notes:**

This is a Harry Potter fanfiction that features the character of Harry Potter in sexual and/or romantic relationships with a number of other characters. Since the bulk of this story takes place during Harry’s sixth year at Hogwarts, most, if not all, of the sexual activity will involve at least one minor. However, all of the people knocking boots will be physically mature enough to do so—in other words, no child molestation happening here, folks!

Most of the sex will be between male and female characters, though there may be some male/male and/or some female/female depending on hos things go. There will be some issues of dubious consent. Depending on how things go, this could get pretty graphic and somewhat kinky. I will provide relevant warnings before specific chapters. 

I should also mention that this story will involve the creation of a polygamous marriage. If that sort of thing bothers you, then there are plenty of other fics out there that might be more suited to your taste.

This story is, at its heart, about power and what people will do to get it, what they’ll do to keep it, and what they do with it once they have it. I intend to take the characters in a fairly dark direction, though I would like to do so in a way that honors the spirit of the canon characters of Harry and Hermione. Since most the other major characters in the book are seen either only briefly or are only referenced, I am going to do what I want with them. There will also be some secondary character death. I have elected to base my characterization of Snape off of Alan Rickman’s performance in the movies rather than on the books as I happen to like his interpretation of the character quite a bit.

This fic will contain foul language, violence, and themes and situations that are almost certainly inappropriate for children. Be aware that, though I am a devoted Anglophile, I am not, in fact, British. I have elected not to attempt to use British slang or profanity because I’m fairly certain I would get it wrong.

Finally, I am keeping all canon events up to and including the battle at the Ministry of Magic in HP:OotP. However, I have elected to change the backstories of a couple of characters.

**Disclaimer:**

Just so we’re clear – I am not J.K. Rowling and I do not actually own the rights to any of these characters. If you are J.K. Rowling and you happen to be reading this, no disrespect is intended! I just want to play with your world for a while and when I’m finished I’ll put it back all neat and tidy the way I found it. If you are a representative of JKR’s legal team, her publishers or Warner Bros., please don’t sue me! I’m not making any money off of this, I swear!

**Chapter Notes:**

I honestly don’t remember where the Invisibility Cloak ended up during the course of HP:OotP and I’m too lazy to look it up. For the purposes of this story, Harry had it in his trunk. I also can’t remember whether Harry ever told Dobby about the cloak or if Dobby ever saw him use it. For the purposes of this story, the answer to both questions is “no.”

**

CHAPTER 1

“Harry Potter must come with Dobby!” Harry looked up in surprise to see the house elf standing before him. He hadn’t heard Dobby arrive and, from the startled look on Hermione’s face, neither had she. 

“Dobby?” Harry blinked rapidly as his mind scrambled to make sense of what he was seeing. He and Hermione, who had just been released from the Hospital Wing that morning, were sitting on a boulder that jutted out into the lake. Harry had deliberately chosen this spot for its inaccessibility; they were on the side of the lake that lay closest to the Forbidden Forest and only a few feet of muddy shoreline separated them from the trees. While the top of the boulder itself was wide and smooth, the approaches to it were slippery and anyone who wanted to talk to Harry would have either had to scramble through reeds and risk twisting their ankles on hidden rocks or they would have had to swim or fly across the lake. This meant that it was ideally suited for privacy and, with everything that had happened, Harry just wanted to be left alone. Thankfully, Hermione understood that. She had been reading a book when Dobby had unexpectedly appeared before them.

“Harry Potter must come with Dobby, sir. Right now.” Dobby held out a familiar bundle of cloth. “And he must wear his special cloak.”

“Dobby….are you standing on the _water?_ ” Hermione squeaked, her eyes round.

“Dobby, how did you know about my cloak?” Harry asked at the same time.

“Yes, Miss.” Dobby turned his attention back to Harry. “You must come with Dobby, sir. Right now.” Obviously, he was going to ignore Harry’s question. As Harry took the cloak the elf offered him, his mind raced with a thousand questions, but Dobby looked and sounded so desperate that Harry stifled all of them. 

“All right.” He stood and slung the cloak over his shoulder so that only his head was visible. “Just give me a minute to get down from…” Hermione also began to stand, but the house elf waved her away.

“Oh, no Miss Hermione. Dobby can only take one.” Before Harry realized what was happening, the elf had seized his hand and, suddenly, they were no longer standing on the boulder by the lake. Harry found himself in a part of the castle he’d never seen before.—from the looks of it, no one had been there for years. It was a long corridor lit only by small windows placed high up near the ceiling. On the wall opposite the windows stood a parade of stone arches, each of which framed a niche containing a statue. Everything was covered with dust and Harry could see Dobby’s footprints as the elf released his hand and darted forwards. He had to jog to keep up with the elf who led him to the very end of the corridor.

For a moment, Harry was confused. He was staring at a perfectly ordinary wall. There were no doors or portraits that might be hiding doors or even tapestries that might be masquerading as doors. Dobby had, however, disappeared. It was only when Harry looked at the floor that he saw that the elf’s footprints had veered to the left at the last moment. Turning, Harry found himself facing a statue of a maiden who was wearing a crown of flowers and was holding, for some reason he couldn’t fathom, a pickaxe. The recess in which she stood was, he noticed, just slightly wider than the others and there was enough room—if one sucked in one’s stomach and ducked under the pickaxe—for someone to squeeze past her. This was what Dobby had obviously done.

Not knowing what else to do, Harry squeeze his way into the niche, holding out his hand in an effort to avoid smacking face-first into the wall behind the statue. But his hand encountered nothing. With a start, Harry realized that there was a room behind the statue. Dobby was waiting for him and when Harry pulled free of the statue, he pointed silently at the room’s one source of light, then pointed at Harry and disappeared. Harry was about to call out to him when he heard voices.

“You wished to see me, Headmaster?” There was no mistaking Severus Snape’s distinctive drawl. Harry unconsciously clenched his fist as he moved towards the sound. To his surprise, he discovered that the room was little more than a recess in the wall from which extended a balcony that overlooked the Headmaster’s office. He realized, with a jolt, that he had seen this balcony on some of his visits to the Headmaster’s office, but had never given a second thought to where it led. Neither, apparently, had the Headmaster. Making sure that the hood of his Cloak was pulled over his head, Harry began to cautiously move forward, all the while straining his ears to catch the conversation.

“Severus. How good of you to join me.” There was something different about the Headmaster’s voice and it took Harry a moment to realize that the man was being sarcastic. _Dumbledore, sarcastic_? What on earth was going on?

“I apologize for the delay, but it took longer than I expected to persuade Madam Pomfrey that it was necessary that Mr. Weasley be permitted to leave his hospital bed. He is dressing and will be here shortly.”

“I shall have to speak with her about that.” Harry had reached the balcony now and could see Dumbledore pacing back and forth behind his desk. He had never seen the man look so impatient. “It is _crucial_ that Harry not be left alone….”

“He is not alone.” Snape pointed out. “Miss Granger is with him and I believe that he’s spent some time with Mr. Longbottom and Miss Lovegood…”

“You know that does me no good.” Dumbledore interrupted. “I cannot control any of them the way that I can control Ronald Weasley!”

“I’ve never understood that.” Snape arched an eyebrow. “I know that you have no power over Longbottom, but the Lovegoods are vassals to House Potter, aren’t they? And Miss Granger…”

“…is descended from the Le Fay line, I know.” Wearily, Dumbledore sank into his chair. “Believe me, Severus, I would much rather use her for my purposes, but I cannot risk anyone knowing who she is or what I’m doing! As for Miss Lovegood….I’m afraid that’s out of the question, too. Her father would know the instant I attempted to use Potter family magic on her.” Dumbledore removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I will be _very_ glad when all this is over.”

“When will you tell Mr. Potter?”

“I will tell him on his birthday.” Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and out of Harry’s line of sight. “If I wait any longer than that, I risk being discovered by the International Confederation of Wizards.”

“Why not tell him now?” Snape suggested. “Will a month really make that much of a difference?”

“I was going to tell him before he left.” Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and out of Harry’s line of sight. Fortunately, the balcony on which he stood ran the length of the wall. Slowly, being careful not to make any noise, Harry moved away from the alcove and out onto the balcony proper. He inched his way forward until he had reached the very end of the balcony. Even then, he had to lean out slightly to get a good view of Dumbledore’s face. “But then Sirius died. Harry’s hiss Heir, you know.”

Snape drew in a sharp breath. “I thought Regulus was the Heir of House Black.”

“So did I.” Dumbledore scowled. Harry had never seen the Headmaster looking so….so _ordinary_ before. “Apparently, the Black family magic had other ideas. Harry will inherit the entire Black estate and while I’m sure that doesn’t include the Black family magic, there is certainly enough information contained within the Black library to lead Harry to….certain conclusions. If I had known that, I never would have encouraged him to go to the Ministry….“ Suddenly, the Headmaster slammed the desk with his palm, jumped up and started pacing again. “You see, _this_ is why the family magics must be eliminated or dispersed. It’s just too wild….too _unpredictable_. Now I’ve got to put up with Nymphadora Tonks….at least until I can figure out if she or her mother inherited the Black magic…”

“Mmmm.” Snape nodded in agreement, though it was clear his thoughts were elsewhere. “Might the magic have passed to Narcissa or Draco?”

“That’s a possibility, yes.” Dumbledore, who seemed to be a bit calmer, sat down again. “Though, since Andromeda was the oldest sister, it’s more likely it went to line. I…” He was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come in!” Instantly, the irascible old man was gone and as Ron entered the office warily, Harry saw only the wise, somewhat grave countenance of the Headmaster. “Ah, Mr. Weasley. So good of you to join us. I trust you’re feeling better?”

“Uh, yeah.” Ron eyed Snape warily. “Madam Pomfrey says I’ll be able to attend the Leaving Feast.” Harry nearly snickered at his friend’s priorities, but managed to stifle himself in time. Still, while Dumbledore ushered Ron into a seat and fussed about him like a mother hen, he saw Snape glance quickly around the room. He held his breath as the Potion Master’s eyes passed over his invisible form, then let it out again as Snape looked away. Snape’s actions had gone unnoticed by the other two.

“There we are.” Dumbledore gave Ron a benevolent smile and Harry saw that his eyes were twinkling brighter than a wonky light at the planetarium. “Comfortable?”

“Y…yes, sir.” Ron was obviously confused by the situation and Harry couldn’t blame him.

“Good. Good.” Without warning, Dumbledore drew his wand and pointed it at Ron’s chest. “ _Obedite!_ ” A flash of light leapt from the wand to Ron’s body and the young man slumped backwards, as though unconscious, though his eyes were open. Harry was so startled by this that he jerked backwards and slammed his head against the wall. Fortunately, neither of the men below noticed the sound of his skull hitting the stone.

“Ronald, can you hear me?” Dumbledore asked.

“Yes, sir.” Ron’s voice was dull and lifeless and it came to Harry that he sounded a lot like someone who had been given Veritaserum.

“Good. Make your report.”

“Harry Potter has come to the hospital wing three times since my last report. He has not said anything about House Magics or his legacy.”

“And his relationship with Miss Chang?” Dumbledore asked. Harry nearly hit his head on the wall again in surprise.

“He hasn’t said anything. As far as I know, he’s not seeing her anymore.”

“Has Harry spoken of me? Has he said anything about whether or not he still trusts me?” Dumbledore leaned forward eagerly so that his face was so close to Ron’s it was making Harry even more uncomfortable than he was already.

“Harry hasn’t talked about you, sir. He hasn’t really talked much at all, actually.” Ron replied, still in that same disturbing monotone.

“Very well. The next time Harry comes to see you, you are to tell him that he cannot visit the Burrow this summer, but that he must write to you on a regular basis. Do you understand?” Snape was obviously as perplexed by this order as Harry was but he said nothing.

“I understand.” Ron said. “What do I tell him when he asks why?”

“You’ll think of something, I’m sure.” Dumbledore sounded irritated by the question, though Harry felt it a perfectly fair one.

“I will read all of Harry’s letters, but if he contacts you in any other way, you are to inform me by owl immediately.”

“Yes, sir.”

“You are to prevent your parents and siblings from attempting to locate Harry Potter. I assume that Fred and George have not regained their memories of where Privet Drive is located?”

“No sir. They remember being there, but they don’t remember how they got there or back.”

“Good.” Dumbledore sat back, apparently satisfied. “You will not remember this conversation. When you wake up, you will believe that I have inquired about your health and about the events at the Ministry. You will return to the hospital wing and, should anyone ask you questions about your visit to my office, you will say that I instructed you not to say anything about our conversation. Are we clear?”

“Yes, sir.” Even though he was obviously in some kind of hypnotic trance, Harry got the sense that Ron was unhappy.

“Good.” Dumbledore picked up his wand and pointed it at Ron again. “ _Finite._ ” Ron blinked and sat up straight in his chair, looking a bit guilty as though he’d been caught dozing in class.

“Thank you, Mr. Weasley.” Nice Dumbledore was back again. “You’ve been very helpful. Now, you should return to the hospital wing before Madam Pomfrey becomes worried. Are you well enough to get back there on your own or would you like Professor Snape to escort you?”

“No, sir.” Ron stood quickly. “I can manage. Thank you, sir.” He backed out of the room quickly and Dumbledore chuckled.

“You asked about Cho Chang. You are concerned about her relationship with Potter?” Snape made the question sound like a statement.

“I was.” Dumbledore admitted. “I must say that Dolores Umbridge did me a great service in that regard. I cannot afford to take the risk that Harry’s hormones might get the better of him.”

“You’re concerned about pregnancy?” 

“Yes.” Dumbledore nodded. “If Harry conceives a child before the deadline to claim his title has expired, then I will have to wait another seventeen years to deal with the Potter magic. It doesn’t matter if the child isn’t born…it simply has to be conceived before the deadline.”

“And may I ask why you do not wish him to go to the Burrow this summer?” Snape’s voice was casual, but Harry had the strangest feeling that the Potions Master felt that it was very important to keep Dumbledore talking. If he hadn’t known better, Harry would have thought that Snape was trying to _help_ him.

“The Weasleys and the Lovegoods are neighbors.” Dumbledore said, as this explained everything. When he saw that it clearly did not, he elaborated. “Xenophilius Lovegood is the closest thing Britain has to an expert on the noble lines and their magics. He knows all about Harry’s legacy and would think nothing of telling Harry all about it, should their paths cross. In previous years, I was not concerned about this as the Weasleys and the Lovegoods don’t have much to do with one another, but unfortunately, Harry struck up a friendship with Luna this year. Allowing him to stay at the Burrow, even for a few days, is far too risky. No.” He shook his head. “Harry will know what I tell him and _only_ what I tell him.”

“I see.” There was silence for a few minutes as Snape stared at Dumbledore and the Headmaster fiddled idly with one of the strange silver contraptions that lined his bookshelves. Harry noticed that all the portraits on the wall were watching the conversation closely and many of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses looked outraged. They did not, however, say a word.

“What do you need me to do?” Snape asked, finally.

“For now? Nothing.” Dumbledore said, standing straight and fixing his gaze on the other man. “I will visit Harry this summer and present him with the Potter family ring. I will also begin instructing him on the life and times of Tom Riddle. Now that Harry knows about the prophecy, it should be easy to keep his attention focused on the Dark Lord and off of his legacy. I won’t need you until the students return in August. Then, I think it will be time for you to deal with Miss Granger. I cannot rely on Harry to keep his inheritance a secret from his friends and I cannot risk her poking her nose into things she shouldn’t.”

“And how, exactly, would you like me to _deal_ with her.” Snape asked. “Miss Granger is a model student and there are only so many excuses I can make for giving her detention before…”

“No, no….” Dumbledore waved a hand dismissively. “I have something entirely different in mind. I want you to brew a potion that can be slipped into her food or drink at some point during the first few days of school. She should become so ill that she will be unable to attend classes or even leave her bed. I will see to it that she is given regular doses for the year.”

“ _What_?” Snape looked aghast. “You want me to purposefully make her ill?”

“Yes.” Dumbledore’s answer came so readily and in such a …..casual tone of voice that it made Harry feel slightly ill himself. “I can’t take the chance that she might meddle and I’m not entirely certain I’ve gotten all the books about the old lines and their magics out of the Library. Madam Pince has been most uncooperative on that score.” Oh, don’t look at me like that!” he snapped, seeing Snape’s face. “You know that I am doing this for a greater purpose….”

“I have my doubts about that.” Snape muttered.

“Well, like it or not you _will_ do it.” Dumbledore looked genuinely angry. “You _owe_ me, Severus. I’d rather have your cooperation, but please do not forget that I am more than capable of compelling you....”

“How can I forget?” Snape stood abruptly. “You remind me at every opportunity, don’t you? Don’t worry, Dumbledore. I’ll brew your potion, but I don’t have to like it!” Without another word, the Potions Master swept out of the office, slamming the door behind him. Dumbledore stared after him for a moment, then sighed and returned to his desk. By this time, Harry saw that some of the portraits were literally banging on their canvases as if they were trapped inside some sort of box. Dumbledore saw this too and with what sounded suspiciously like a snicker, he picked up his wand.

“All right.” He said, his manner as cheerful and bright as if he’d just returned from a particularly good Quidditch match. “Let’s get this over with.” He waved the wand and the room was suddenly filled with a cacophony of sound. Every single portrait was yelling, screaming, howling, or crying, each trying to out-shout the other in his or her efforts to be heard. Harry couldn’t make out most of what was being said, but he did manage to pick up words like “despicable” and “monster.” Dumbledore simply leaned back in his chair and smiled.

Harry nearly jumped when he felt something tap his elbow. Looking down, he saw that Dobby had returned. Mute, the elf extended his hand and Harry took it. In the blink of an eye, he was back on the boulder by the lake.

**Chapter 2**

Hermione stared at Harry in disbelief. When Dobby had spirited Harry off, she had decided to stay on the boulder in the hopes that the elf would return him to the same place and they _had_ returned, roughly half an hour later. Dobby had promptly disappeared again and Harry had related everything he’d heard. He had just finished and was somewhat out of breath, as though he’d been running.

“So, what do you think?” he asked, finally.

“I think….I think that we need to figure out exactly what is going on.” She replied, slowly. “I remember Sirius saying something about his house being noble….”

“You’re right.” Harry’s eyes went wide. “He called it the Most Ancient and Noble House of Black!”

“I didn’t think anything about it at the time.” Hermione admitted. “I just thought it was more of his family’s pure-blood nonsense, but now I’m not so sure….”

“The problem is that we can’t use the Hogwarts library.” Harry pointed out. “Dumbledore’s sure to know something’s up if we start looking for books on noble houses and family magic. Apart from everything else, we’ve only got another two days before we have to get on the train.”

“Agreed.” Hermione bit her lip. After a moment’s hesitation, she made her decision. “I can look it all up over the summer. My Aunt Fiona lives in Oxford and she’s been wanting me to come stay with her for ages. Mum and Dad never let me because….well…that’s not important now.” She realized that she was blushing furiously and hoped Harry hadn’t noticed. Now was hardly the time to dig out the skeletons in her family’s closet. “I’m sure I can convince them to let me go, though, and Oxford has the largest magical library in Europe!”

“You’ll help me?” When she saw the look of relief on Harry’s face, Hermione felt ashamed at her brief hesitation. “Oh, _thank you_ , Hermione. You’re the best!” She tried to ignore the flutter in her heart and sternly reminded herself that there were more serious matters to deal with at the moment.

“If Dumbledore’s figured out a way to read all your mail, we can’t send anything by owl.” She reminded him.

“True….and we can’t send anything by Muggle post either. He might think to check that too and even if he doesn’t, the Dursleys might get the wind up if I start getting letters all of a sudden. We can’t use the telephone either. After what happened with Ron a couple of years ago, the Dursleys would probably just hang up on anyone who called and asked for me.”

“What about e-mail?” Hermione suggested. Harry shook his head.

“Dudley’s got a computer, but the Dursleys don’t have internet access. There’s a cyber-cafe I could walk to, but I think that would be a bit too public.” Hermione nodded her agreement and they lapsed into silence for a few minutes. Suddenly, she sat up straight and snapped her fingers.

“Of course….Dobby!”

“What?” Harry stared at her for a moment before he understood. “Yeah! Dobby could deliver letters – I’m’ sure the Hogwarts elves can come and go without anyone noticing…”

“He’s not _bound_ to Dumbledore the way he was bound to the Malfoys.” Hermione pointed out. “He works here, but he’s not a slave, so he wouldn’t _have_ to tell Dumbledore what we’re up to.”

“And he knows what’s going on…or at least some of it.” Harry said. “That’s why he took me to the one place I could listen in on Dumbledore’s conversation without being noticed. I’d still like to know how he knew about my cloak, though….”

“Never mind that now.” Hermione stood abruptly. “We’ve got to go and find him. He’s probably in the kitchen….nobody will think twice if they catch us sneaking in there. Students do it all the time….”

“Yeah, but….” Harry, who was still seated, sat in thought for a moment. “I want to try something first.” Taking a deep breath, he called “Dobby, come here please!” Instantly, the elf appeared before him.

“You be needing something, Harry Potter?”

“Yes.” Harry nodded and patted a spot next to him. “Sit down, please. I want to talk to you.” Dobby looked around quickly before sitting.

“Dobby not like to talk about what Harry saw today.” He said quickly. “There be ears everywhere at Hogwarts.”

“Oh!” Harry’s eyes widened in surprise. “Uh…okay. Maybe we could talk about it over the summer? You could come to my house when the Muggles are away.”

“Yes!” Dobby nodded enthusiastically. “When it be safe, just call Dobby’s name and tell him to come.”

“I’ll do that, then.” Harry agreed. “I was also wondering if you’d be willing to carry some letters for me….for us.” He indicated Hermione. “I don’t want anyone to read them and Hedwig’s great and all, but….” Dobby nodded again, this time in understanding.

“Owls be fast, but not smart or powerful.” He stated. Privately, Harry thought that Hedwig might disagree with this, but held his peace. “Dobby will take Harry Potter’s letters and nobody will read them. Not even Dobby.”

“Good.” Harry said. “I’ll be sending letters to Hermione and she’ll be sending letters to me. Can she call you the way I can?”

“Oh yes. Dobby is happy to help Master Harry and Miss Hermione.”

“This won’t cause any problems for you here, will it?” Hermione asked, anxiously. “Only, we don’t want anyone else to know you’re carrying mail for us and if someone notices you’re gone…..”

“It be no trouble, Miss.” Dobby assured her. “During the summer, the Hogwarts elves are always coming and going. We not need permission. Nobody notices us….not even Mister Filch or that nasty old cat of his.” The little elf’s face contorted in a grimace of distaste.

“Brilliant!” Harry said. “I guess that’s all for now….” He threw an inquiring glance at Hermione. “Anything else?” She shook her head. “Thanks a lot, Dobby! I’ll be sure to buy you a new pair of socks!” Grinning, the elf vanished into thin air. 

Harry and Hermione spent the rest of the afternoon going over what little they knew and trying to make some sense of it all. Finally, they scrambled down off the boulder and set off towards the castle for dinner.

“I’m so….. _angry_.” Harry said, quietly. Hermione reflected that he had changed—had matured—quite a bit over the past year. He still had all the emotions of a hormone-ridden angsty teenager forced to deal with situations that would break most fully-grown adults, but he was no longer lashing out inappropriately….and he was willing to accept help. “Dumbledore has been _using_ me all this time. Do you remember what I said after we went after the Philosopher’s Stone our first year? I said that I thought that Dumbledore knew we were going to go after the stone and that he gave us enough information to help us….at the time, I thought he was doing it because he believed in me….”

“I’m sure he does…..” Hermione’s voice trailed off as she realized just how hollow and unconvincing she sounded. Fortunately, it seemed as though Harry hadn’t heard her. 

“It’s like….like he’s drawn a map for my life and he’d just watching me go from point to point like a good little boy.” Harry sounded extremely bitter. “It’s not just what he’s done to me, either. Dumbledore as good as killed Sirius….I thought he….I thought he was going _against_ Dumbledore’s orders when he came after us…”

“I know.” Hermione tried to think of something… _anything_ …to say that would ease Harry’s pain. “You know Sirius would have come anyway….even if Dumbledore hadn’t wanted it.”

“Yeah.” Harry’s voice was shaky and Hermione suspected he was trying not to cry. “But from what he said…it sounded like Dumbledore….I don’t know… _set him up_.”

“It does, doesn’t it?”

**

The end of term rituals were torture for both Harry and Hermione. For starters, they had to pretend that everything was all right and Harry, in particular, had to act as if he had completely forgiven the Headmaster for “allowing” Sirius to come to the Ministry and for the way Dumbledore had avoided him all year. Worst of all was that they had to pretend that they didn’t know Ron was working as a spy (albeit unwittingly). The day after he overheard the conversation in the Headmaster’s office, Harry went to visit his best friend in the hospital wing. Ron delivered the bad news that Harry would not be able to visit the Burrow that summer due to the fact that both Fred and George had come down with dragon pox and were highly contagious.

“I’m being sent to stay with my Great-Auntie Muriel and Ginny’s going to stay with the Lovegoods..” Ron had grumbled and, for a moment, Harry almost believed him. However, Hermione had had a few words with Madam Pomfrey and discovered that dragon pox, while highly contagious, was not common in Great Britain and there had, in fact, not been a case in Britain in nearly thirty years.

“So unless Fred and George took a trip to New Zealand in the last two weeks, there’s no way they have dragon pox.” Hermione told Harry.

“And being Muggle-born and raised, it’s reasonable to expect that we wouldn’t know that.” Harry shot a glance towards Ron, who was at the far end of the Gryffindor table talking animatedly to Dean and Seamus. The Leaving Feast was in progress and they were using the general racket of end-of-term merry-making to cover their conversation. “That’s actually pretty clever.”

“It is.” Hermione agreed. “I wonder if whatever that spell is allows Ron to access his subconscious….” Her gaze drifted off and Harry realized that she was thinking about the theoretical possibilities this idea presented. He was about to say something to regain her attention when Ron joined them.

“So…what are you two up to this summer?” he asked.

“I’m going to stay with my Aunt in Oxford.” Hermione replied, promptly. “I got permission from my parents this morning.” She gave Harry a significant glance.

“I’m at the Dursleys.” Harry didn’t have to pretend to be dejected at the prospect. “Dumbledore says he’s coming to see me on my birthday, but he won’t tell me why, so there’s that to look forward to….” _Or dread_ , he added silently.

**

The next three weeks passed by very slowly for Harry. Hermione had warned him that she wasn’t going to be able to get to the magical library in Oxford right away—after all, her aunt was a Muggle and would surely wonder if Hermione disappeared too often—and he couldn’t even call Dobby because there was always at least one Dursley around at any given moment. Harry’s birthday was only a week away and he was starting to get worried.

Hedwig brought letters from his friends as usual. Ron, who had apparently completely forgotten about the dragon pox and staying with his Aunt Muriel, sent Harry long letters relaying bits of news about the Chudley Canons, the upheaval at the Ministry of Magic in the wake of the Battle, and tidbits about various members of the Weasley family. Percy’s name was conspicuous in its absence and Harry suspected that the rift that had developed between Ron’s brother and the rest of his family had not been mended. Ginny, who really had gone to spend a month with Luna and her father wrote occasionally and told him all about having tea parties with the eccentric staff of the Quibbler and going on excursions to find plimpies that always seemed to end up with both girls covered in leeches. Luna herself wrote Harry once and reported that the issue of The Quibbler containing his interview had become something of a collector’s item and that her father was using the proceeds from the sales boom that occurred after he re-printed the interview along with Luna and Ginny’s accounts of the Battle of the Ministry to fund another expedition to find a Crumple-Horned Snorckack. Harry wished he could ask her about what her father knew concerning family magics, but he didn’t dare. 

The letters from Hermione were hardest to read. She was a regular correspondent and her letters were voluble and, at the same time, completely devoid of anything resembling substance. Harry knew she didn’t want to give anything away in a letter that might be intercepted, but it was frustrating nonetheless.

Finally, the Dursleys announced that they were going to stay with Aunt Marge for a few days. Ever since the time Harry had accidentally inflated her like a balloon, Marge had refused to set foot on Privet Drive. Though Harry knew that her memories of the incident had been erased, he suspected that some lingering trace of fear associated with the house and with him remained in her. Now, instead of Marge coming to the Dursleys once a year, they went to her though the arrangement left everyone concerned dissatisfied.

In previous years, Harry had been left with Mrs. Figg, while Uncle Vernon had locked the house to be sure he couldn’t sneak back inside while they were away. This year, however, Mrs. Figg was in York, caring for her elderly sister, and was therefore unavailable. Vernon and Petunia had discussed the idea of hiring someone to come and stay with Harry, but had quickly decided against it because the neighbors would wonder why a sixteen year old boy who had never (to their knowledge) put so much as a toe out of line couldn’t be trusted alone for the short time they’d be gone. Uncle Vernon had suggested simply locking Harry out of the house and leaving him to fend for himself, but Petunia had vetoed this idea, again citing the neighbors’ curiosity.

To Harry’s delight, they had finally agreed to allow him to stay in the house by himself. On Saturday morning, after Vernon had handed Harry a list of rules as long as his arm and Petunia had given him a list of chores nearly twice that length, the Dursleys drove off in their gleaming new car. They were back less than five minutes later because Dudley had forgotten one of his video games and Vernon wanted to add some more rules to the list. Fifteen minutes after that, they were back again because Petunia wanted to remind Harry to clean the oven and Vernon wanted to remind him that he was not, under any circumstances, to blow up, flood, freeze, burn, or otherwise harm any part of the house. Finally, they left for good. Harry waited an extra half hour to be sure, then retreated to his room and closed the blinds.

“Dobby, come here!” he called.

It was a full moment before the elf arrived and he was not alone.

“Hermione?” Harry gasped as she let go of Dobby’s hand. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, Harry!” she gasped. “I’m so glad to see you…..we have _so_ much to tell you….”

“We?” 

“Yes… Dobby?” Hermione turned her head but the elf was already gone. “Oh, I guess he’s gone to fetch him….”

“Fetch who?” Harry was completely confused. Apart from the fact that he hadn’t expected to see Hermione until September 1st, he was not quite able to look at her directly. Harry was used to seeing Hermione in her school uniform, augmented with the occasional jacket, scarf, cloak or sweater or swathed in her voluminous pink bathrobe. He was _not_ used to seeing her in nothing but a pair of shorts and a thin t-shirt. It struck him forcefully that Hermione was nearly sixteen and looked every inch her age.

“”Ah….well…” Something in her voice finally drew Harry’s eyes to his friend’s face and he was surprised to see that she looked nervous. “Promise you won’t be angry, all right, Harry?” She spoke rapidly, as if afraid he was going to interrupt her. “He found me in Oxford and he knew what I was doing there and we started talking and he can explain everything so much better than I can….”

“ _Who_ , Hermione?” Before she could speak, Harry got his answer. Dobby reappeared, again, he wasn’t alone. This time he had brought Professor Snape with him. Harry was stunned into speechlessness. Later, when he had time to think on the matter, he decided that it was probably for the best.

The elf released Snape’s hand and disappeared again.

“Close your mouth, Potter. You’re liable to start attracting flies at any moment.” Harry shut his mouth so quickly, his teeth made a _click_ sound as they hit one another. Even in his shock, he noticed that Snape’s voice was somehow different. It was the same drawl he’d listened to for the past five years, but the undercurrent of venom that had always lurked just below the surface seemed to have disappeared.

“Professor!” Harry gasped, still too surprised to be angry. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“That…” Snape paused “is a rather long story. Perhaps we can move someplace a bit more comfortable?” Nodding numbly, Harry led the way out of his bedroom and down the stairs to the living room. It was only as they threaded their way through the maze of tables covered in bric-a-brac and photographs of Dudley that Harry noticed that both Snape and Hermione were carrying satchels. They had all just settled themselves when Dobby reappeared holding what looked like a Muggle cooler.

“I bring Butterbeer.” He announced. “And elf cakes from Mrs. Tufty’s tea shop!: Hermione squealed with delight and dove into the cooler. Handing bottles to the other two, she then withdrew a large pink box tied with string. Snape took out his wand and conjured a small low table onto which she placed the box. Its contents turned out to be a number of small, round cakes covered in powdered sugar.

“Madam Tufty’s is a bake-shop in Oxford.” She explained, carefully picking up one of the cakes. “It’s run by this lovely old witch….you really ought to try one of these, Harry.” The others watched, fascinated, as she took a bite and moaned in ecstasy. After a moment, Harry recalled his circumstances.

“Will someone _please_ tell me what is going on?” He hated the note of desperation in his voice, but there was nothing he could do to stop it.

“Right.” Hermione put her half-eaten cake down on a plate Dobby had provided and leaned forward, all business again. “Harry, you’re a wizard….”

“I know that, Hermione!” Harry was beginning to lose his patience.

“Please, Harry, let me finish.” When she was sure he wouldn’t interrupt her again, she continued. “You’re a wizard, but you’re not just _any_ wizard….and I don’t mean because you defeated You-Know-Who. You are the last magical descendant of the Pendragon line.”

“What?” Harry blinked in surprise. He hadn’t expected that. “Pendragon…as in _Uther_ Pendragon?”

“Exactly.” Nothing could have prepared Harry for the approval he heard in Snape’s voice. “Very good, Potter. King Arthur was not Uther Pendragon’s only child. Before he became obsessed with Ygraine, Uther harbored a passion for a young witch by the name of Nyneave. Nobody is certain whether he seduced her or forced her into his bed but what _is_ certain is that once he’d had his way with Nyneave, Uther abandoned her. Nine months later, she gave birth to a baby girl she called Rowena. Rowena grew up to become a witch like her mother and she eventually married and had children. Your mother is her direct descendant as is your Aunt Petunia.”

“But…but my mother was Muggle-born….” Harry protested.

“No, she wasn’t!” Hermione said, her eyes shining with excitement. “Neither am I! _There’s no such thing!_ ” 

“You’re not making any sense, Hermione.” Harry protested. “You told me that your parents are dentists….”

“They are.” She said. “But my great-great-grandmother on my father’s side was a witch! She wasn’t very powerful, so she decided to live in the Muggle world. When her children were born, she thought they were Squibs, but she was wrong. The magic wasn’t gone from them, it was just….sleeping!”

“Like Miss Granger, your mother was the first person born with active magic in several generations.” Snape picked up the tale. “She only became aware of the Pendragon legacy during her sixth year at Hogwarts. By that time, the Knights of Walpurgis had killed all her relatives save for her sister.”

“The Knights of Walpurgis?” Harry looked from one intent face to the other. “Who are they and why would they go after members of my Mum’s family?”

“The Knights belong to the Order of Walpurgis.” Hermione explained. “The Order was founded nearly a thousand years ago. Nobody’s quite sure what their original purpose was, but over the centuries, they became dedicated to the eradication of what they call ‘wild magic.’”

“There are chapters of the Order of Walpurgis throughout Europe.” Snape interjected, “ but they’ve only had real success here in Britain. They’ve managed to ban or destroy many books containing references to wild magic and they’ve eliminated any discussion of it from the Hogwarts curriculum.. What’s more, they’ve managed to classify all sentient magical beings….goblins, house elves, and the like….as magical _creatures_. The laws that apply to the treatment of goblins are the same as those that apply to the treatment of one of Hagrid’s Blast-Ended Skrewts!”

“But that’s not the worst of it!” Hermione was getting excited again. “The Knights of Walpurgis managed to completely transform British Wizarding society to suit their goals. Slowly, but surely, they’ve been eradicating the families that have wild magic in their blood….”

“Like the line of Pendragon.” Finally, all the pieces of the puzzle fell into place for Harry.

“And the line of Black.” Hermione added.

“But what _is_ wild magic?” Harry asked. “Why do they want to destroy it?”

“Wands can be monitored….and controlled.” Snape’s answer was so simple, yet so profound that it took Harry’s breath away. “Family magic and the magic used by the goblins and house elves...that isn’t tied to a tangible object the way wand-magic is. The Knights see themselves as guardians of order, but in reality, they just want to be in charge. They’re no better than Voldemort and his Death Eaters.”

“All right.” Harry spoke slowly. “That’s all terrible….but it makes a certain sort of sense. So, what does it all have to do with me? I use a wand…”

“But you’re the last Pendragon.” Hermione said. “All the Pendragon family magic is inside of you, just waiting to be unlocked!”

“More than that,” Snape said. “You are also the Heir to the House of Black.”

“But what does that matter?” Harry asked. “I’m not related to Sirius….”

“But you are.” Snape’s voice was smooth and cool as ever. “Sirius Black was your father.”

“Professor, I think you broke Harry.” Hermione’s voice sounded as though it was coming from the far end of a tunnel, though even in his state of shock, Harry noted that she seemed to be on surprisingly friendly terms with the Potions Master.

“Are you all right, Potter?” Harry felt a cup being pressed into his hands and, without even once considering what it might contain, he took a hefty swallow. He regretted it almost immediately as the cup held what Snape later told him was a very fine whiskey. Choking and spluttering, Harry stared at his best friend and his worst enemy in confusion, still unable to corral enough brain cells into one place to form actual, coherent words.

“Miss Granger, perhaps you ought to explain things.” Snape said, taking one of the cakes off the plate on the table. “He might listen to you.”

“All right.” Hermione’s expression settled into what Ron called her “lecture-face” and Harry instinctively relaxed somewhat. “Harry, you know that Sirius’ family was really, _really_ dark, right?” Harry nodded, still mute. “His mother never would have tolerated him dating a Muggle-born, let alone marrying one and he knew that. Even after she disowned him, Sirius was afraid that if his mother found out about your Mum, she would kill her. So, James Potter agreed to pretend to date Lily during their last two years at Hogwarts. Sirius thought they would be free after they left school, but then his brother died and….well, I don’t understand this fully, but I think the Black estate was somehow magically entailed. The estate had to pass to one of Orion Black’s children and, with Regulus dead, that left only Sirius. There was nothing Sirius’ mother could do, but she made it clear that she wouldn’t tolerate him marrying anyone but a Pure-blood witch from one of the Ancient families. By that point, your Mum was pregnant with you so James Potter agreed to marry her and to let everyone believe that he was your father.”

“Why….” Harry had to clear his throat several times before speaking. “Why would he do that?”

“James loved both Sirius and your mother very much.” Snape said, his voice quiet and filled with a sadness the likes of which Harry had never heard before. “Moreover, the Potter family, while quite Light, had their own prejudices. James was their only son and they were determined that he should marry and father children, no matter what he wanted.”

“But why wouldn’t he want….” Harry’s jaw dropped open. “Are you saying James Potter was _gay_?” There was a brief pause while Hermione explained the meaning of the Muggle term, then Snape nodded.

“He met someone at Hogwarts and they were devoted to one another. James knew that his family wouldn’t approve, so when Sirius first approached him about publicly courting Lily, he readily agreed. The arrangement was as much to his benefit was it was to theirs. By the time you were born, Lily had claimed the Pendragon legacy and was able to use her family magic to alter some of your physical characteristics so that you resembled James and not Sirius. To the best of my knowledge, the only people who ever knew the truth were Sirius, Lily, James, and myself.”

“ _You_?” Harry stared at Snape. “Why would they tell….” Suddenly, the truth hit him. He wasn’t quite sure how he knew what he knew or why he believed any of this, but he knew he had the answer. “You were James’ lover, weren’t you?”

“Yes.” Despite the fact that his head was reeling from everything he’d heard in the last half-hour, Harry had the sense that his entire future hung on how his response to this admission. Hermione looked anxious and Snape was nearly vibrating with tension, though he maintained an outward show of ease.

“So….” Harry said, slowly. “Why didn’t Sirius tell me any of this when he was alive?” Apparently, he’d said the right thing for he saw both of the others relax visibly.

“As I said, your mother found out about her legacy during her sixth year.” Snape replied. “Actually, it was the summer between her fifth and sixth year. She got the opportunity to study with a Charms Master in Italy. The Knights have made very little progress in Italy and the old families there are free to practice their magics without fear of retribution. It happens that this Charms Master was a scion of one of those families and he recognized Lily for what she was. By the time she’d returned to Hogwarts, she had claimed her legacy. She kept the matter secret, as she was very aware of the Knights and what they would do to her if they found out who she was. I believe that, outside of Italy, Sirius is the only one who ever knew the truth. I did not find out until after she died.” A shadow crossed his face then. “If I had known…..” He heaved a sigh. “That’s not important now. What’s important is that both Sirius and your mother knew that you stood to inherit family magic from both their lines and they swore to protect you at all costs. Had he lived, I believe Sirius intended to tell you after you left Hogwarts, but he couldn’t run the risk that someone would find out while you were still in school and vulnerable.”

“But Dumbledore knows.” Harry pointed out. “I heard him….” His voice trailed off and he stared at Snape. “You knew I was there, didn’t you?”

“Yes.” Snape nodded, looking quite pleased once again. “I knew Dumbledore was going to talk to Mr. Weasley before you all left for the year, so I asked Dobby to station you somewhere where you could listen in on our conversation.”

“Why?” Snape’s behavior during all this was the one thing Harry couldn’t puzzle out. “You’ve hated me ever since I got to school….”

“I must apologize for the way I’ve treated you….and you, Miss Granger. I was acting under Dumbledore’s orders.”

“Dumbledore _ordered_ you to be nasty to us?” It was Hermione’s turn o be shocked.

“Dumbledore has forced me to do many terrible things, I assure you, Miss Granger, but he did not specifically tell me I was to be nasty to you.” Snape replied. “I will happily explain the reasons for my behavior some other time. For now, let us focus on the matter at hand. I wanted you to hear our conversation, Mr. Potter, because I wanted you to be aware of the true nature of the situation before Dumbledore tells you what he wants you to know.” A suspicion had been forming in the back of Harry’s mind and he finally felt compelled to voice it.

“Dumbledore’s a Knight of Walpurgis, isn’t he?”

“Yes.” Both Hermione and Snape nodded vigorously. 

“But he’s also head of the International Confederation of Wizards.” Hermione went on in a rush. “Like Professor Snape said, the Knights have only really been successful in Britain. The ICW is packed to the gills with ancient families that have loads and loads of wild magic in their blood. They all know who your Mum was…or the Italians do, anyway….and they all know that you’re the last Pendragon.”

“Albus Dumbledore got himself named your guardian in the Wizarding world after your mother’s death.” Snape explained. “With Sirius in Azkhaban, there was no one to disagree with him and he’s been taking full advantage of the power that comes with the position. However, he _has_ to turn it all over to you soon or he’ll risk being found out by the other members of the ICW.”

“But there’s a catch, isn’t there?” Harry guessed. “There’s always a catch.”

“Indeed.” Snape nodded.

“Claiming your legacy isn’t simply a matter of putting on a ring and filling out forms.” Hermione explained. “There are certain conditions that have to be met….things you’ll have to do. Dumbledore isn’t going to tell you about any of that. You have to do all these things before you turn seventeen or else….” She paused to take a deep breath. “Oh Harry, if you don’t fully claim your legacy by your seventeenth birthday, you’ll die.”

**

It was 3:55 and Dumbledore would be arriving in five minutes. Fortunately, the Dursleys weren’t due back for another two days, so Harry didn’t have to worry about them. Unfortunately, their absence meant that there was nothing to distract him from his nerves. Dobby had found the lists of chores Uncle Vernon and Aunt Petunia had left him and had taken it upon himself to complete them. Naturally, it had only taken the house elf a fraction of the time it would have taken Harry and as the elf stubbornly refused to leave Privet Drive unless Harry sent him on an errand, Harry had given him his Firebolt and told him to take it to the Quidditch shop in Diagon Alley for servicing. With that done, there was nothing left to do but wait for the Headmaster.

Snape and Hermione had stayed well into the night on Saturday and had left him with loads of books and notes culled from Hermione’s research. After sleeping in on Sunday morning, Harry had eaten a delicious breakfast (prepared by Dobby) and spent the rest of Sunday reading. Dumbledore was due to arrive at 4:00 on Monday and Harry could only hope that he was ready. 

At exactly 4:00, Albus Dumbledore appeared in the living room at number four, Privet Drive. 

“Hello, Harry and Happy Birthday!” Dumbledore beamed at him, his eyes twinkling as bright as ever.

“Thank you, sir.” Harry forced a grin on to his face. “How are you?”

“I’m quite well, thank you.” After a moment’s contemplation, Dumbledore selected a chair and sat down. Harry noted that he’d chosen Uncle Vernon’s chair, which was the largest and most comfortable one in the room. 

“Would you like something to drink?” Harry offered, wishing that they could dispense with the pleasantries.

“Some tea would be delightful, thank you!” Dumbledore folded his hands in his lap and looked expectant. Harry trotted off to the kitchen, where an already full kettle was waiting on the stove. In just a few minutes, he came back, bearing two cups of tea. Dumbledore took a delicate sip of his and made a slight grimace.

“Ah well.” He put the cup down on the table and seemed to forget about it completely. “Harry, I asked for this meeting because there are three things in particular I wish to discuss with you.

“Yes, sir?” Harry took a chair facing Dumbledore and took a sip of his own tea. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with it.

“The first matter concerns Lord Voldemort….” The Headmaster spent the next twenty minutes describing the Dark Lord’s activities since the Battle at the Ministry and the various ways in which the prophecy concerning Harry and Tom Riddle could be interpreted. He concluded by outlining a plan in which, together, they would hunt down the secret of Tom Riddle’s immortality. Harry asked a few polite questions, but remained silent throughout Dumbledore’s recitation.

One of Snape’s revelations had been that Dumbledore knew exactly how to defeat Tom Riddle and had known, in fact, since the end of Harry’s fourth year. The Potions Master had explained the Horcruxes to them and informed them that, save for the ones contained within Nagini and Harry himself, Dumbledore already had them all in his possession. From the speech Dumbledore was giving him now, Harry deduced that the Headmaster was going to use the search for the Horcruxes as a means of keeping him both busy and biddable during the coming school year. Finally, when the topic of Voldemort had been exhausted, Dumbledore moved on to the subject that really interested Harry.

“Now, on to the other matter…I have something for you.” Dumbledore reached into his robes, pulled out a small box, and handed it to Harry. Silently, Harry opened the box. Inside, nestled in a bed a velvet, sat a ruby ring. It was not ostentatious, the way Uncle Vernon’s school ring was, but it still looked quite impressive. Harry also noticed that it looked far too large for a woman’s finger. In fact, he wondered if he would be able to keep it on his own hand.

“That belonged to your mother.” Dumbledore said. “She believed that she was a Muggle-born student, like so many of her classmates. Just before her sixth year, she took a trip to Italy during which she discovered that she was actually a descendant of one of Britain’s oldest wizarding families. She was, in effect, the magical equivalent of what the muggles call a noblewoman. Such honors and titles are highly prized on the Continent, though many in Britain feel that they are rather outdated and old-fashioned.” Dumbledore’s tone of voice made it quite clear which side of the argument he fell on.

“Nevertheless, as I said, the European countries hold such people in high regard and they are accorded a place of honor at the International Confederation of Wizards. As your mother’s only descendant, you have inherited her title, her estate, and her legacy. That ring is a symbol of this legacy. By putting it on, you acknowledge your position and the responsibilities that come with it. The estate comes with some land and money, I believe, and as I said, you will be invited to join the ICW. You may do so or not—the choice is entirely yours.”

“You said there were other responsibilities?” Harry prompted, wondering just how much Dumbledore would be willing to tell him.

“There are.” The headmaster nodded. “Unfortunately, I do not know what they are as your mother never confided any of this to me. I believe that she went to great lengths to keep this a secret….even from your father. That is understandable, of course. Your mother wanted nothing more out of life than to be seen as an ordinary witch, like all the other girls with whom she went to Hogwarts. Then, after she graduated, I think she was far too busy with your father and you and her work for the Order of the Phoenix to give the matter much thought.”

Harry studied the ring closely. The minute he’d laid eyes on it, he’d felt an emotion akin to what he’d felt when he’d first received his father’s invisibility cloak. _This was hers_ he thought. _She wore this_. Thinking back, Harry realized that he’d learned a great deal more about his father during his time at Hogwarts than he had about his mother. Her name appeared on a plaque along with the names of all the other Head Boys and Girls from 1970 to 1985, but other than that, there was no tangible evidence of her existence at the school. Complicating matters was the ring itself—Harry could feel the power coming off it in waves and he sensed…no, he _knew_ …that it wanted to be on his finger. It was if the ring was alive. Alive and desperate.

“I can assure you, Harry” Dumbledore’s voice intruded on Harry’s thoughts and he reluctantly dragged his attention back to the headmaster. “that no one expects you to take on the burden of your position until you have come of age. You merely need to put the ring on now and then you will not have to worry about any of this until your seventeenth birthday.”

“Then why bother with the ring at all? Why not wait to put it on until I turn seventeen?” Harry asked, hoping he sounded completely reasonable.

“Ah,” Dumbledore had the grace to look sheepish, though Harry wondered if the emotion was genuine or if he was simply putting on a show for Harry’s benefit. “I’m afraid I’m to blame for that. You see, I only learned about all of this a few months ago—at the last meeting of the ICW. An Italian colleague of mine—Signor Lontano is his name—knew your mother and knew about her legacy. He asked me about you and in the course of our conversation, I admitted that you had not been informed of your inheritance. He rebuked me quite firmly—and publicly—and insisted that I rectify the situation as soon as possible. As I’m sure you realize, last year’s….er….circumstances, made it impossible for me to do so before now.”

“I still don’t understand what that has to do with the ring.” Harry said. “You’ve told me about my mother and if I don’t have to deal with this until I turn seventeen…” “The ring is enchanted, Harry.” Dumbledore said. “It is be-spelled to recognize the heir to your family’s legacy. Every noble family in Europe has a ring like that and they all know when someone has died or when an Heir has placed the ring on his or her finger. It would….” Dumbledore paused, as if choosing his words carefully. “It would be a great favor to me if you would do this, Harry. I cannot continue to lead the ICW if half its members think I’ve deprived the Boy-Who-Lived of his rightful inheritance.”

“All right. If it’s that important….” Taking a deep breath, Harry plucked the ring out of its box and leaned forward to place the box on the table. He had rehearsed this move with Hermione and Snape and on his own and he only hoped that all the practice had paid off. As he set the box down on the table, he felt the ring slip from his fingers. 

“Oh damn….sorry, Professor.” He muttered.

“That’s quite all right, Harry.” Dumbledore chuckled. “Would you like me to…?”

“No, I’ve got it.” Sinking to his knees, Harry thrust his hand under the skirt of the chair where the ring had rolled out of sight. Grasping the ring, he withdrew his hand and started to rise….only to crack his head on the coffee table. He let out a yell and nearly dropped the ring again.

“Are you all right, Harry? Dumbledore asked, looking concerned. Muttering to himself, Harry took his seat, the ring clenched in his hand.

“Yeth thir.” He replied, his speech somewhat muffled by the fact that he’d bitten his tongue. “I’ll be okay in a minute.” Blinking rapidly, Harry focused on the Headmaster’s face and was pleased to see nothing but an expression of polite concern. “Thorry about that.” Harry muttered and, without further ceremony, slipped the ring onto his finger. 

Harry remembered the day he’d gotten his wand from Ollivander’s. He remembered trying wand after wand and feeling more and more ridiculous and then…then he’d picked up _his_ wand and from the instant the wood had touched his skin, he’d felt the sense of _power_. Putting on the ring was something like that, only much more so. This time, he understood that the power had nothing to do with the ring itself—the ring was like a key that had unlocked a door within him and released the magic that had lain within him his whole life. He smiled, well aware that if he took the ring off, the power would still be there. But Dumbledore didn’t need to know that. A small part of him noticed that the instant the ring had touched his finger, it had shrunk to fit him perfectly.

“Harry?”

“Yes, sir?” Harry suddenly remembered the Headmaster’s presence. He hoped that the euphoria coursing through him wasn’t too evident, but he decided he didn’t really care if it was.

“Are you all right?”

“All right, sir?”

“Your head.” Dumbledore smiled, gently. “You hit it pretty hard on the table and now you look…..well, you look rather befuddled.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Harry gingerly touched the lump that was rapidly forming on his skull. “I’ll be okay in a few minutes, I think.”

“Good.” Dumbledore nodded. “Now, the ring belongs to you, but I feel that it’s best if you don’t wear it until you’re ready to assume your title and its responsibilities, don’t you?”

“I suppose.” Harry pretended disappointment. “But can I keep it on for just a little while? I’ve never had anything that belonged to my mother before…”

“Of course you can.” Dumbledore sounded as though he was indulging a small child and Harry resisted the urge to smack him. “But I’ll need to take it with me when I leave.”

“Yes, sir. You said there were _three_ things we needed to discuss?”

“Ah, yes.” Dumbledore withdrew a piece of parchment from his robes. “There is the matter of Sirius’ will….it seems he has left you everything,…all his money and property. This includes his house at Grimmauld Place. With your permission, I’d like to continue to use the house as a base for the Order of the Phoenix…”

“I thought Sirius was disowned by his parents.” Harry protested. He was very well aware of the truth of the matter but, again, he was interested in hearing Dumbledore’s perspective.

“Ah…Sirius’ father, Orion Black, died when he was in his second year at Hogwarts. It was his mother who disowned him four years later. However, Orion Black’s will stipulated that his property _must_ pass to one of his sons. While Regulus was alive, Sirius’ mother’s word concerning which son the inheritance would pass to was law. However, once Regulus died, the estate passed to Sirius. I can tell you that his mother was not pleased about the situation.” 

“Sir….does this mean I’ve inherited the Potter estate, whatever estate comes with my mother’s legacy _and_ the Black estate?” Saying it out loud brought the enormity of the situation home to Harry.

“You have.” Dumbledore nodded. “When you come of age, you will be a very wealthy young man.”

“If I live that long.” It was time to put the final touches on his performance. “With all due respect, sir….all this is very nice, but it won’t really help me against Voldemort, will it?”

“No, it won’t.” Dumbledore agreed.

“Then I think I’d like to concentrate on surviving until my seventeenth birthday. I can worry about what to do after that once Voldemort is out of the picture.”

“A very wise decision.” Dumbledore nodded, his face radiating approval. “You will have quite a bit on your plate this year, between your NEWT studies and being Gryffindor’s Quidditch captain, not to mention our researches into Voldemort’s longevity. The rest of it can wait until next summer.” With that, Dumbledore stood.

“And now, Harry, I’m afraid I must be off.”

“There is one thing, sir….” Harry stood as well. “I can’t go to the Burrow this summer because Fred and George are sick. But the Dursleys have gotten used to me being away during the month of August. Do you think it would be all right if I went and stayed at the Leaky Cauldron until school started?” Dumbledore considered this request for a moment, then nodded slowly.

“I think that should be all right, provided you stay on Diagon Alley. No wandering Muggle London and under no circumstances are you to go off on your own. Voldemort has not yet been bold enough to attack Diagon Alley, so you should be safe there, but promise me you won’t take any unnecessary risks.”

“I won’t.” Harry agreed quickly.

“Would you like me to take you?” Dumbledore offered. “If you can be ready in ten minutes, I could…”

“Thanks sir, but that isn’t necessary.” Harry said. “The Dursleys are going to London the day after tomorrow and I’m sure I can get them to drive me.”

“Very well. If your plans change, please let me know.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you for coming.” Harry held out his hand and Dumbledore shook it.

“And now, Harry, I’m afraid I really must insist that you give me the ring….”

“Oh. Right.” Holding his breath, Harry tugged at the ring on his finger. It didn’t budge. Relief flooded him. “Uh, sir?” He tugged harder, but all that happened was that he became aware of an increasing amount of discomfort in his finger. “It’s….it’s stuck!”

“What?” Dumbledore looked startled. Harry tugged again and this time there was real pain. “Oh dear…allow me.” Dumbledore withdrew his wand and took Harry’s hand. Holding the wand over the ring, he muttered something, then tugged on the ring. Still, nothing happened. He repeated the incantation and the tug and the results were the same. Finally, after Harry let out a particularly loud yelp of pain, he gave up.

“What do I do now, sir?” Harry asked, massaging his sore digit.

“Let me think….” Dumbledore stowed his wand and stared off into the distance for a moment. Harry noticed that his eyes ere distinctly less sparkly than they had been when he’d arrived. “The ring must have formed some sort of magical bond with you.” He concluded. “Short of cutting off your finger, there is no safe way to remove it. I suggest, therefore, that you allow me to DisIllusion it for you. That way, it won’t draw any unwanted attention.” Harry readily agreed to this plan and the task was completed in minutes. Dumbledore took his leave and, after he was gone, Harry leaned against the door and breathed a sigh of relief. 

Gingerly, he opened his mind up to the new power that welled inside of him. Holding his hand up before his face, he willed the ring to be visible. It was. He willed it to disappear again and it did. Harry smiled and willed the Sticking Charm he’d placed on the ring to dissolve. The plan had worked perfectly and the result was well worth the sore head. 

**

(Black Hall, July 31)

Narcissa Malfoy _née_ Black awoke with a start. She had not been sleeping well at night and had taken to dozing in the afternoon while staring out the window of her childhood home. Even those naps afforded her little respite from her cares, however, and she was well aware that her mental and emotional turmoil was starting to show. She and Draco had fled to Black Hall the night Lucius had been arrested and they had remained there ever since, virtual prisoners themselves. They had no choice—the Hall had been built over five centuries ago with Black family magic. They were safe as long as they stayed within its wards—neither Aurors nor Death Eaters nor Voldemort himself could get to them there.

But now….Narcissa’s blood ran cold as she was filled with the certain knowledge that someone had claimed the Black family legacy. To the best of Narcissa’s knowledge, Sirius had not had any children. He did, however, have numerous cousins and there were still a few aunts and uncles roaming the countryside as well. Any one of them could have claimed the legacy and Narcissa had no way of knowing which one it was. If, god forbid, the legacy had passed to Bellatrix….. She drew in a sharp breath as she contemplated _that_ thought.

“Mother?” Draco looked up from the book he had been reading. “Are you all right?”

“Yes….no….Oh, Draco.” Narcissa sighed and stood up. She had been sitting in the window seat overlooking the formal gardens, but she now stood and came to stand behind her son. “Someone has claimed the Black family legacy.”

“What?” Draco looked shocked. “ _Who_?”

“I don’t know.” She sighed. “I suppose we’ll find out soon enough. If we’re lucky, it will have gone to Andromeda or her daughter….oh, what’s her name….?”

“Nymphadora.” Draco supplied. “But wasn’t Aunt Andromeda disowned?”

“Family magic doesn’t work like that, my love.” Narcissa told him. “The power cares nothing for legal frivolities. It is possible to cut someone off from their family magic….I believe Sirius’ mother tried to do that….but the process is long and difficult and is almost always as damaging to the one doing the disowning as it is the one disowned.”

“So, if Aunt Andromeda or Cousin Nympadora claimed the legacy…”

“If it’s one of them, we should be all right.” Narcissa said. “Andromeda and I were always on good terms and she knows that my involvement with the Dark Lord was your father’s idea, not mine. What concerns me is that the power might have gone to Bellatrix.” At that thought, Draco went pale.

“But….but Aunt Andromeda is older….” He whispered.

“Age and birth order have nothing to do with it.” Narcissa replied. “You must understand, Draco, that family magic is different than the magic you are taught at Hogwarts. It’s wilder…freer….more alive. _It_ chooses where it wants to reside and there is nothing that any of us can do about it.”

“Right.” Draco closed his eyes briefly and Narcissa wondered if he was offering up a prayer of some sort. “What do we do?”

“I’m not sure.” She admitted. “We can sit here and wait to see what happens, we can go somewhere else and hope that no one finds us, or….” A third possibility entered her thoughts and she studied it carefully. “Or I can go to Gringotts tomorrow and get the answer myself.”

“Wouldn’t that be dangerous?” Draco asked. “What if someone sees you?”

“I will take care not to attract attention to myself.” His mother assured him. “Yes….yes! I will go to Gringotts and ask who has claimed the legacy. I’ll tell the goblins….I’ll tell them that I wish to pay homage and they will give me all the information I need. If it turns out to be your Aunt Bellatrix, we’ll run. I have some cousins in France who might be willing to help us. If Andromeda or her daughter…or someone else claimed the legacy, then we’ll have to determine our best course of action.”

“That makes sense.” Draco nodded. “Shall we go now?”

“No.” Narcissa decided. “There will be too many people on the Alley and in the bank. I think it’s best that I go tomorrow morning, first thing in the morning. There shouldn’t be many people around then and I’m far less likely to be noticed. You…” she gave him a fierce glare “are not going.”

“What?” Draco leapt to his feet. “Why not? I have as much right to know as you do….and you _said_ you wouldn’t send me away like I was a child….”

“Peace, my love.” Narcissa put a hand on his shoulder. “You said it yourself. This trip will be dangerous. Even if I am there when the doors to Gringotts open, I run the risk of being seen and recognized by someone. You know very well that the Dark Lord has spies everywhere and that is to say nothing of the Ministry’s Aurors. We cannot go together because we cannot take the risk that they will capture both of us.”

“All right.” Draco said, though he was obviously reluctant. “Then I’ll go…”

“You cannot. You are not of age yet and the goblins will not give you the information we need.” Narcissa reminded him. “No….when I go to Gringotts, you must take…. _it_ ….and hide someplace safe. If all is well, I will come to you and we can return here. And if I am captured….well, you know what must be done.”

**

(#4 Privet Drive/The Leaky Cauldron, August 2)

By the time the Dursleys returned from Aunt Marge’s house, Harry was packed and ready to go. He waited until they were all inside the house, then informed them—in as few words as possible—that he was leaving Privet Drive and not coming back.

“Good riddance!” said Uncle Vernon.

“But what if those….those _things_ come back?” wailed Aunt Petunia. Ever since the Dementors had attacked Dudley and Harry the previous summer, she’d jumped at shadows and seen monsters around every corner. Harry assured her that as long as they didn’t reveal that they were related to him, they had nothing to fear from the magical world. This arrangement suited the Dursleys quite well and so, without further ado, Harry left Privet Drive. Dobby had already taken his trunk to the Leaky Cauldron and once Harry had rounded the bend and ducked into a shadowy area behind a house on Lombard Circle, the house elf appeared and took Harry there as well. Harry felt guilty for using Dobby as a taxi service, but it couldn’t be helped. He didn’t know how to Apparate and he wasn’t confident enough in his new abilities to use them to transport himself around the countryside.

Hermione was waiting in the small parlor they’d reserved. As soon as she saw him, she squealed and threw her arms around his neck, hugging him tightly. Harry returned the embrace and tried to ignore the feeling of her warm body pressed up against hers. How had he not noticed how…. _voluptuous_ she was before?

“Oh, Harry!” she squealed. “You did it, you did it, you did it!”

“Yeah.” He chuckled, gently releasing her. “I guess I did.” Hermione let go of his neck and grabbed his hand, pulling him towards one of the sofas.

“And you’re sure Dumbledore doesn’t suspect anything?”

“I can’t be one hundred percent certain about it, but I don’t think he has a clue. Either that, or he’s a really good actor.” That thought sobered him up a bit. “I’ll have to talk to Snape….And that’s just _weird_ , isn’t it?”

“It is.” Hermione nodded. “When did he say he was coming by?”

“Dumbledore’s got him doing stuff for the Order so he wasn’t sure when he could meet with us. He’ll send a note with Dobby.”

“Right.” Hermione had calmed down somewhat and now began rooting around through her purse. “I hope you don’t mind, but I’ve made a list…oh, it’s in here somewhere….”

“Hermione.” Harry had been thinking on this for the past two days and he felt he had to say something now before she became any more involved. “Hermione, listen to me.” Something in his voice must have gotten her attention, for she look up, her hand still in the bag. “Listen, I _really_ appreciate everything you’ve done for me. I can’t tell you how much you’ve helped me out but…”

“But nothing.” Hermione said, firmly. “I’m your friend, Harry, and you need me.”

“I don’t think you understand what I’m going to be doing.” Harry said, his voice quiet. “Hermione, I’m going to be going up against Dumbledore and the _entire_ Ministry of Magic...and I’m going to take them down.” His mouth was set in a grim line. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking about this and there are a _lot_ of problems in wizarding Britain. There’s all this pure-blood crap and the way families like the Malfoys have been able to use their money and power to push their weight around and to get away with _everything_. There’s the way house elves and other sentient magical creatures are treated…”

“…and the _awful_ education we receive compared to what witches and wizards on the continent get.” Hermione continued for him. “And the fact that Muggle-borns simply don’t have the same career opportunities that ‘pure-blood’ witches and wizards do….Believe me, Harry, I know what you’re up against.”

“Do you?” he asked her. “Do you understand what being the last Pendragon means?” He pulled a book from his pocket. “Did you read this one? It’s a history of the Pendragon line.”

“I read it.” Hermione nodded. “And I know perfectly well what it means. You’re…well….you’re the closest thing wizards have to a king.”

“Exactly. And I intend to take back my throne. By force, if necessary.” Hermione had always thought that Harry looked young for his age. Now, however, she thought he looked far older than his sixteen years. She was slightly disturbed at how attractive she found him. “This isn’t going to be a popular move, Hermione, and loads of people are going to try to stop me. I don’t want to paint a target on your back…”

“You’re not.” Hermione caught and held Harry’s gaze. “I’m perfectly well aware of what you’re going to have to deal with and I agree with you that the wizarding world needs a serious overhaul. You’re in a position to do that now and I’m in a position to help make it happen. You’re not getting rid of me, Potter, so don’t even try.”

Harry opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again. She was right…he _needed_ her and he was certain she was telling the truth when she said that she said that she knew exactly what she was getting into.

“All right.” He said, slowly. “But Hermione…there is going to come a point in time when you can’t back out of this. Until then….if this all gets to be too much, you just say the word. No hard feelings, I promise.”

“Agreed.

**

“Now….where is that list? Ah!” Hermione withdrew a small notebook from her purse and flipped through it until she found what she was looking for. “I’ve thought about what we need to do before school starts. You need to officially claim the Black legacy….”

“Already done.” Harry grinned, held out his hands and willed the rings on his fingers to sappear. The Pendragon ruby was on his right hand and the Black emerald was on his left. Hermione gasped.

“But how….? Dumbledore didn’t give you the Black ring, did he?”

“No.” Harry shook his head. “But wearing the ring isn’t the same as claiming the legacy.”

“It isn’t?” Hermione’s brow knit in puzzlement. “But the books say…”

“The books are wrong.” Harry stated. “Or…well…your books are wrong.” Reaching into his bag, he pulled out another, much older volume. It was bound in cracked and faded leather and Hermione could just make out a coat of arms that looked familiar.

“I’ve seen this before.” She said, brushing the gilt with the tip of her finger.

“You have.” Harry nodded. “At Grimmauld Place. It’s the Black family Coat of Arms. Snape gave me this.” He offered the book to her and she held it reverently. “It’s a journal written by one of Sirius’ ancestors. Apparently, she was born around the same time as Elizabeth I and was named for her. Her father was the Head of House Black, but he never used the family magic or appeared different or special in any way. When he died, the family found out that he’d never claimed the legacy. He’d just pretended to claim it and had a fake ring made to fool everyone. Since he’d been around for a really long time, no one alive knew how to claim the legacy for themselves. They had to get help from the goblins and it cost them so much money that it nearly bankrupted the family. Elizabeth didn’t want that to happen again, so she wrote out the procedures in specific detail in her journal.”

“But how did Snape get it?” Hermione asked, bewildered.

“I’m coming to that.” Harry said. “First, there’s a difference between putting on the ring and claiming the legacy, like I said. To claim the legacy, all you need to do is to announce that you are Head of the family in front of a goblin, an elf, and a centaur. I got Dobby to bring the others to Privet Drive the morning of my birthday and I claimed both the Houses of Black and Pendragon.”

“But wasn’t that dangerous?” Hermione asked. “I mean…what about imposters? All someone would have to do is get a goblin, a centaur, and an elf together and say they were the Head of the House of Whatever and….”

“No, they couldn’t.” Harry was grinning in a way that made Hermione shiver. “That’s why you get the witnesses, you see? Goblin, elf, and centaur magic are different enough from human magic that they can’t be fooled or manipulated by human spells. The wild magic is precious to them and they will literally kill anyone who tries to abuse or usurp it. So, for instance, if you drank some Polyjuice potion with my hair in it and tried to claim the Pendragon legacy, they’d see right through your disguise and kill you on the spot. I suppose that’s why Dumbledore never tried it….” He mused.

“But then….what’s the ring for?” she asked.

“The ring is….well, it’s a key, actually.” Harry laughed. “Only a Head of a House, wearing his or her ancestral ring has access to certain family vaults at Gringotts.”

“Does Dumbledore know that? Is that why he wanted to take it back from you?” Hermione gasped.

“No.” To her surprise, Harry started to laugh. “Dumbledore thinks that the ring acts like a wand…that it would be nearly impossible to use my family magic unless I was wearing it. I don’t think he even knows about the family vaults!”

“I don’t understand. What’s so funny?”

“The ceremony of claiming my title is the thing that really woke up my family magic.” Harry explained. “Only, it’s not something that happens right away. It just so happened that the magic fully woke within me when I put the ring on…in front of Dumbledore.” Hermione stared at him, then began to giggle.

“So he really has no idea….”

“None whatsoever.” Harry grinned. They laughed softly for a moment, then Hermione grew serious again.

“But Snape said that there are conditions…”

“There are.” Harry nodded. “Unfortunately, that journal doesn’t say what they are since the lady who wrote it…her name was Elspeth, by the way….wasn’t the Head of the family and never had to deal with them. I’ve made an appointment to go to Gringotts in the morning and talk to the goblins. Dumbledore let slip that they might be able to tell me what to do.”

“Right.” Hermione consulted her list. “So, that’s all set for your legacies, then. Now what about Vo…You-Know-Who?”

“Hermione,” Harry sighed. “How many times do I need to tell you to…”

“I know you want us to call him by his name.” Hermione snapped. “But think, Harry. He’s back now! Everyone knows it and if we sit around chatting about how we’re plotting to kill Vol… _him_ , people are going to notice.”

“You’re right.” Harry admitted. “Sorry. But we can’t keep calling him You-Know-Who either. Everyone would know exactly who we’re were talking about.”

“That’s a good point.” Hermione gazed thoughtfully at a vase of flowers for a moment, then nodded decisively. “We’ll call him Frances.”

“Frances?” Harry spluttered.

“Yes, Frances. There was a girl called Frances in my primary school who was absolutely horrible to me. And she always smelled like vinegar.”

“Right.” Harry snickered. “Frances it is. To be honest, I’ve been so worried about the legacies that I haven’t given Frances much thought over the past few days.”

“I have.” Hermione replied. “According to Snape, Dumbledore has all of those…. _things_ Frances made in his office. All of them except for the one Frances gave to his pet snake and the one she gave to you….” She paused as Harry burst out into gales of laughter again. “What?”

“I swear….before the end, I am going to tell Frances exactly who she was named for!” Harry had to wipe the tears out of his eyes. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, then reluctantly, she began to laugh too. When they were both finished, Harry took off his glasses and began idly cleaning them on his shirt. “Right. So we’ve got to figure out a way to get all of Frances’ toys away from Dumbledore, then find the snake and get her…toy and then figure out how to get the final one out of me.”

“Right.” Hermione nodded. “Once we get back to Hogwarts, I want to look a few things up in the library…and we’ll need your Dad’s map. Have you still got it?”

“In my trunk.” 

“Good. We’re going to need to create a distraction to get Dumbledore out of his office so we can search it, but I’m afraid I haven’t any ideas about that.”

“Me neither.” Harry admitted. “We’ll have to think about it. I wish we could tell Ron…this is really his area of expertise.”

“Yes, well…Ron’s next on my list.” Hermione said. “We’re going to have to tell him…and his parents…about what Dumbledore did to him.”

“Yes, but I want to wait until after I talk to the goblins to do that.” Harry said. “Elspeth’s journal gives some hints about what being the Head of a House actually entails and if it means what I think it does, I may be able to get Ron out of it.”

“Good.” Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. “You know he’s going to be furious that we did all this without him.”

“I know.” Harry’s good humor vanished in an instant. “There’s no help for it, though… It’s not his fault, but he can’t be trusted.” Hermione looked distressed, but nodded her agreement. “Actually, what I’m more worried about is what will happen when Ron finds out that I’ve inherited the legacies of _two_ families. You remember how upset he got after that mess with the Goblet of Fire, right?”

“How could I forget?” Hermione grimaced with distaste. Ron had been an absolute arse and she was well aware that his jealousy of Harry’s wealth hadn’t disappeared. He’d just been better about hiding it lately…. “Talk to his Mum and Dad before you tell him.” She advised. “And maybe Bill. The three of them ought to be able to knock some sense into him.”

**

(Gringotts Bank, Diagon Alley – August 3)

Harry followed the goblin through one of the hundreds of doors that lined the walls of the main room at Gringotts bank. Most of these doors, he knew, led to entrances to the tunnels containing the vaults, but this one led into a marble lined hallway. At intervals on each side of him stood yet more doors and the goblin stopped in front of one of these and knocked. 

“Enter.” Came a voice from somewhere beyond the door. The goblin opened it and gestured Harry to precede him into the room.

“Mr. Harry Potter.” the goblin announced, then left, shutting the door behind him. Harry was standing in an office that seemed to be impossibly large, given what he’d seen of the hallway and of the outside of the building. The walls were paneled in a dark wood, richly carved with grotesque designs and the floor was covered with rich carpets of every hue and texture. Off in the distance, Harry could barely make out a desk.

“Step forward, Harry Potter and be recognized.” Called a voice from the far end of the room. Not knowing what else to do, Harry took a step forward. Instantly, he found himself held fast by an invisible force. He felt something….almost like electricity….pass quickly from the top of his head, down through his body, and out the soles of his feet, then as suddenly as it had grabbed him, the force released him and he stumbled forward, almost crashing into the desk.

“My apologies, Mr. Potter.” There was a goblin standing next to him. He grabbed Harry’s elbow and guided him to a plush chair. Looking around wildly, Harry saw that the office was, in fact, quite small and that the door was only a few feet away.

“What…what was that?” he asked, unable to control the tremor in his voice. 

“Clever, isn’t it?” The goblin grinned. “It’s goblin magic. Had you entered this office without our permission, the ward would have immediately sent you to one of our mines in Siberia. Trust me when I tell you that no one has _ever_ escaped the mines. Even with an invitation, had you entered this room with any Dark objects, the ward would have sent you straight to a cell in Azkaban and the object in question to the Ministry of Magic along with the identity of the one possessing it.”

“Wow.” Was all Harry could think to say.

“Indeed.” The goblin bared its teeth in a wicked grin, then sat down behind the desk. “I am Rivash and I am honored to be of service to the Houses of Pendragon and Black.”

“Thank you.” Harry nodded, still slightly shocked by the ward he’d encountered. “As I told your colleague when I made this appointment, this is all very new to me.”

“Not to worry, Mr. Potter.” Rivash said. “We are well used to dealing with those who do not know about their heritage until they claim it. First, I see you have your family rings. How did you come to possess them, if I may ask?”

“I received the Pendragon ring from Albus Dumbledore.” Harry replied promptly. “I’m not sure how he got it…”

“Neither am I.” Rivash frowned. “That ring returned to the family vault after your mother’s death.” He pulled a piece of parchment towards him and made a note. “I shall certainly look into this.”

“Please do.” Harry nodded eagerly. “Professor Dumbledore told me that he’s been acting as my magical guardian…I’d like to know what that means and what he’s done on my behalf.”

“Your magical guardian?” The goblin looked puzzled for a moment, then his face cleared. “Ah! I see. Dumbledore has taken advantage of a law that allowed pure-blood witches and wizards to become the guardians of Muggle-born children until such time as they entered formal training. The law dates back to the mid-16th century—a time when many Muggle-born witches and wizards were persecuted, or even killed because they couldn’t control their magic and were found out by members of their families or community. The law was put in place to protect them. The law was never removed from the Register, but it has not been enforced in two hundred years.”

“As your magical guardian, Dumbledore had the right to remove you from the home of your Muggle relatives, if he felt you were in danger. He also had the right to make certain decisions for you, such as where you would attend school and to make arrangements for your marriage.” Harry’s eyes bulged at that. “He was paid a small salary out of your family vault, but as you were not in his care, he was not given personal access to it.”

‘My _marriage_?” Harry squeaked. “Dumbledore could force me to marry someone?”

“Not precisely.” The goblin said. “In those days, he could have made arrangements with the parents of a suitable witch, but you both would have had to be of age before the contract could be validated. At that point, if either of you wanted to back out of the proposed union, you would have been able to do so without harm to anyone involved. As I understand it, that custom has fallen out of favor with most wizarding families.” Rivash consulted another parchment. “Professor Dumbledore made no such arrangements for you. He did, however, decide that you should attend Hogwarts and he has made numerous attempts to access the Pendragon vaults. He has not, however, attempted to access the Black vaults.”

“He didn’t know I was the Heir.” Harry muttered, then looked at Rivash. “Does he still have this…guardianship over me?” The goblin shook his head.

“Once you claimed your title, all previous contracts, claims, and suits made on your behalf became null and void.”

“Then you don’t have to tell him about our conversation.”

“Mr. Potter.” The goblin leaned forward. “At Gringotts, we take confidentiality _very_ seriously. From the moment you claimed your legacy, we have been strictly forbidden from talking about it…or _you_ …to anyone without your express orders to do so.”

“Brilliant.” Harry sighed with relief.

“Now….about the Black ring….?” Rivash prompted.

“Oh, yeah. When I claimed the title, the goblin who witnessed my claim…Firefang…he told me that the ring was in the vault, so I sent my House elf Dobby to fetch it for me.”

“And this house-elf….is he bound to you?”

“I think so.” Harry frowned a little. “He says he is….”

“Well then, that’s all right.” Rivash looked satisfied. “Now, these….” He pushed two large books across the desk towards Harry “are your Ledgers. There is one for the House of Pendragon and one for the House of Black. They contain lists of all your assets and they also contain family trees and lists of all your vassals.”

“Pardon, vassals?” Harry blinked in confusion.

“Yes.” Rivash nodded sagely. “The great Houses in the wizarding world are much like the great Barons and Dukes who lived in the Muggle world many centuries ago. They each have other, lesser houses that swear fealty and service to them. In return for this service, the Great House is required to protect the lesser house from all enemies.”

“I…I see.” Harry was stunned by this.

“There are other aspects to the relationship between a wizarding lord and his vassal, but I do not know what they are. You will have to consult your family grimoire for that information. You will find those in your vaults.” Harry could only nod.

“Access to the vaults will only be granted to you, your children and your Steward. You will need to choose a Steward, by the way.”

“A….A what?” Harry desperately wished Hermione was here with him, but the goblin who had arranged this meeting had been quite clear that only Harry would be allowed.

“It is all explained in your grimoire.” The goblin gave what he obviously thought was a reassuring smile. “It sounds terribly complicated, Mr. Potter, but I assure you that these matters are actually quite straightforward and simple.”

“I was told that there are conditions attached to claiming my titles.” Harry said, hesitantly. “I was told that if I didn’t do them by my seventeenth birthday, I’d die.”

“Yes.” Rivash frowned. “I am curious as to why Dumbledore left you in ignorance for so long. You can claim your inheritance as early as your eleventh birthday. That would have given you plenty of time to meet the conditions.”

“But what _are_ they?” Harry asked, knowing he sounded desperate.

“First,” the goblin ticked his points off on his long, thin fingers. “You must prove that you can command the loyalty of your vassals both old and new. Each house’s rules are slightly different, but this usually involves administering an Oath of Fealty to some of your existing vassals and at least one new vassal. Second, you must prove that you can defend your House and your vassals against attack. Third, you must add to your House’s store of knowledge. Fourth, you must prove that your house can be a boon to wizard-kind and Fifth, you must prove that you can provide an Heir.”

Harry sat in silence, too shocked to speak. Finally, he blurted out the first thing that came to his mind.

“You mean I’ve got to get some girl pregnant in the next year?”

**

“You humans.” Rivash chuckled, pushing a cup into Harry’s hand. “It never ceases to astonish me how excitable you all are. No, you do not have to make a baby, you merely need to prove that you are capable of doing so.” Harry almost asked _how_ , but stopped himself in time. He merely blushed and took a drink. It was only after the liquid touched his lips that he realized it might be something dangerous or harmful, but to his relief, all he tasted was tea. Seeing that he was recovered, Rivash returned to his seat.

“Those are the conditions which you must meet in order to fully claim your legacy.” He continued. “However, the details of how those conditions are to be met are specific to each family. Please do bear in mind that you will have to claim _both_ legacies by your seventeenth birthday. If you do not,” he held up his hands in a gesture of helplessness.

“But why?” Harry asked, rather plaintively. “Why will I die if the conditions are not met?”

“Because we….the magical creatures of this realm….will have no choice but to kill you.” Rivash said this in such a calm, matter-of-fact voice that it took a moment for them to sink in. “You must understand, Mr. Potter, that we are all bound together by magic—humans, goblins, elves, giants, centaurs, mer-perople, Veela….even Nifflers. We are all servants of magic. The only difference between wizards and the rest of the magical world is that we recognize that we are servants, whereas you lot think you are magic’s masters. If a man has both a wand and the Wild Magic, he is doubly powerful and his actions affect us all. He is also twice as likely to abuse that power. Magic protects us by ensuring that you lot _earn_ your magic. Since you are claiming your titles as a minor, you are granted a bit more time to fulfill your obligations. Fully grown witches and wizards are only granted three months’ time to fulfill theirs.” Harry shuddered. It had just occurred to him what would have happened had Dobby not brought him to eavesdrop on Dumbledore—he would have accepted the ring and Dumbledore’s assurances on faith alone and, in all likelihood, would have perished painfully on his seventeenth birthday.

“As I said, your grimoires are in your vaults.” Rivash continued. “Those will give you further details on fully claiming your heritage and I believe that the grimoires also contain information about your family mgaics.”

“About that….” Harry forced himself to focus. “I think Professor Dumbledore has been using Pendragon family magic. Is that part of this whole ‘magical guardian’ thing?” Rivash frowned.

“Technically, a magical guardian does have the right to use your family magic, but only under extreme circumstances…to save your life or your family grimoire. Do you know what he was using it for?”

“I know that he….he ordered a friend of mine to tell him everything I said and did….” Harry looked down at his hands. “I don’t know how long that’s been going on, but I suppose it might have saved my life….” He doubted it, though. Even if Dumbledore had been controlling Ron since first year, there were certain times when Ron _couldn’t_ have contacted Dumbledore in time for the Headmaster to intervene on Harry’s behalf. Furthermore, Harry’s life certainly hadn’t been in danger during those last days at Hogwarts after the Battle at the Ministry.

“I see.” Rivash’s eyes had gone so cold they made Harry shiver. “Mr. Potter, I assure you that we will investigate this matter very closely. We at Gringotts take our roles as caretakers of the great family estates and fortunes very seriously. Moreover, I am certain I can speak for the Goblin Horde when I say that we do not wish to see anyone wielding the Wild Magic who does not have the right to do so. It appears that Dumbledore may have crossed us on both counts. Furthermore, we have a particular connection to the House of Pendragon. If Albus Dumbledore has abused his position as your magical guardian, rest assured – we will learn about it. We cannot act, however. I will pass on my findings to you, but it is up to you to decide how you wish to handle them.”

“Good.” Harry nodded. “But please don’t send anything by owl….I believe that Dumbledore is intercepting and reading my mail before it gets to me. If you need to send me anything, call for my house elf, Dobby.” Rivash nodded. “In the meantime, now that I’ve claimed my titles, he can’t use my magic anymore, can he?”

“No.” Rivash shook his head.” That path is closed to him now.”

“I wonder if he knows.” Harry mused.

**

(Diagon Alley, August 3)

He met Hermione on the steps to the bank a half hour later. He had gone to the family vaults and gotten the grimoires, plus stopped at the Potter vault and filled several small bags with coins. He had decided that, for now, he would only take money from the vault that Dumbledore knew he knew about. If the old man found out he’d been in Gringotts, he now had proof that he’d been there for perfectly ordinary, legitimate reasons. The family vaults were huge—each one was easily four times the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts—and filled with everything from coins to precious stones, to armor, to artwork. Harry had taken one look at them and decided that now was _not_ the time to explore. He had the Ledgers, after all, so he would know what each vault contained before too long. 

He had thrown everything in a bag and used his will to throw a Weightless charm on it. The whole concept of being able to simply alter things with his will was both terrifying and exhilarating. Hermione and Snape had told him about wandless magic and Snape had taught him how to do the Sticking Charm he’d used on the Pendragon ring, but this was so much more than that. With wandless magic, you still needed to say the words. With his new powers, he didn’t even need to _think_ of a particular incantation. He just needed to focus on whatever he wanted to achieve long enough for it to happen. Harry shuddered. Rivash was right. This was an incredible amount of power and he could easily see how people might be tempted to misuse it.

Harry desperately wanted to go straight back to the Leaky Cauldron and start reading the grimoires, but he and Hermione had already discussed the possibility that he was being watched. If that was the case, he would have to spend the day on Diagon Alley, pretending that his life hadn’t irrevocably changed course in the last few days.

“Everything all right?” Hermione asked, looking anxious.

“Fine.” Harry assured her. “I got what I needed. Come on.” He grabbed her hand. “Let’s explore!” This was the first time she had been on the Alley without adult supervision and though Harry had spent several weeks there before his third year, his boundaries had been strictly limited and enforced by friendly, but firm shopkeepers. Harry wanted to explore and to take full advantage of that fact that people seemed to think that they were both old enough to look after themselves. They stayed off of Knockturn Alley, of course, but after consultation with Tom, the barman at the Leaky Cauldron, they had discovered that there were several other side streets that were perfectly safe. They spent the morning wandering through a cozy little lane filled with nothing but bookstores and had then, to Hermione’s delight, discovered that Madame Tufty’s tea shop was a franchise with a branch in Diagon Alley. They ate lunch there and talked about their plans for the rest of the month, carefully avoiding any sensitive topics lest they be heard by one of the many passers-by. Harry wondered if he was starting to get just a bit paranoid.

“It could get rather boring.” Hermione admitted as they stepped out onto Diagon Alley again. “I mean, I know I want to spend loads of time reading, but one has to move _sometimes_.”

“I know.” Harry said. “Maybe we can ask….” He stopped and stared and his jaw fell open. Hermione followed his gaze and her eyes bulged. Across the street, several wizards were clustered around the base of a building that they had previously thought was empty. The wizards all had their wands out and were wearing Muggle hard-hats. They were levitating a huge, garish sign and as the pair watched, they maneuvered it against the wall, while one man yelled what sounded like the incantations for Sticking Charms. The sign said _Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes_. 

“They did it.” Hermione breathed. “They actually did it!”

“Yeah, isn’t it brilliant?” Harry was grinning from ear to ear. “Let’s go say ‘hello!’” They crossed the street and approached the group of men, who were now standing around eyeing the sign critically. Harry didn’t recognize most of them, but one of them wore his hard-hat at a rakish angle and Harry could see the tell-tale red hair underneath.

“Oy, George!” he called. Harry wasn’t sure how, but over the years, he’d learned to recognize the twins. They’d never been able to switch places successfully on him.

“Harry! Hermione!” George’s eyes lit up. “What are you doing here?”

“We’re staying at the Leaky Cauldron until school starts.” Harry replies. Gesturing towards the sign, he added “Looks good!”

“We’re holding the Grand Opening on Friday” George said. “You have to come. It’s going to be epic….the whole family will be here….” Harry and Hermione exchanged a glance. It was clear that George didn’t know that he was supposed to be at home suffering from Dragon Pox. Just then, the wizards who had been making minute adjustments to the sign with their wands, signaled for George’s attention.

“I’ve got to go.” George gave an apologetic grin. “Fred is in Hogsmeade picking up some last minute supplies, so it’s all on me, I’m afraid.” Giving them a jaunty salute, George left them to rejoin the group. 

“What are we going to do?” Hermione murmured, her eyes wide. “Who knows what Ron told his parents about why we couldn’t visit….”

“We’ve got a couple of days to think about it.” Harry spoke in what he hoped was a reassuring voice, but he wasn’t sure if Hermione had been fooled.

**

(Headmaster’s Office – Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, August 3)

Albus Dumbledore sighed as he slumped into his chair and took a moment to simply bask in the peace and quiet of his office. It had been a long, long day. He had spent the morning at the Ministry dealing with Rufus Scrimgeur, the new Minister of Magic. Dumbledore didn’t particularly like the man. He was far more ethically rigid than Cornelius Fudge had been and he was far less deferential towards Dumbledore. Scrimgeour was desperate to get his hands on Harry Potter and to use him as a public relations tool to prop up his administration and Dumbledore was not about to let that happen. Briefly, he wondered if it had been a wise move to allow Harry to spend the remainder of his vacation at Diagon Alley, but he didn’t dwell on the topic. Albus Dumbledore prided himself on his ability to deal with things in the here and now, rather than dwelling on the past as so many of his colleagues were wont to do.

After dealing with Scrimgeour and handling a few small items for the Wizengamot, Dumbledore had returned to Hogwarts and spent the afternoon in a meeting with the Board of Governors. That had been a long and irritating meeting and had left Dumbledore with a slight headache. The Board had some “suggestions” about security measures and it had taken him nearly three hours to convince them that he knew his business and that students at the school would be perfectly safe from Voldemort and his followers. The one valid concern that had been raised had been the security of students traveling to and from Hogwarts and, sighing again, Dumbledore reached for a quill and parchment and made a note to himself to discuss the matter with the Ministry.

With that done, he turned his mind to other matters. With a negligent wave of his hand, he summoned a small glass globe from one of his shelves, then the scroll that had been sitting next to it. He touched the globe with his wand and murmured an incantation. Instantly, the glass filled with smoke. When it cleared, he found himself gazing into the living room at Malfoy Manor. Voldemort was there, surrounded by a number of Death Eaters, including Severus Snape. Dumbledore wished he could hear what they were saying, but he was going to have to rely on his spy for a full report. He grimaced. Once this farce was over, he would have to eliminate Snape. The man knew far too much.

With a wave of his hand, the Headmaster sent the orb back to its place and turned his attention to the scroll. It contained a map, like so many of the other scrolls in the office, but this one was unique. Rather than showing a particular place, it showed a particular person—in this case, Harry Potter. Knowing that Harry was planning on spending the remainder of the summer on Diagon Alley, Dumbledore had caused the map to show the various stores and side streets as well as showing the path Harry took between them. Eyeing the map, the Headmaster noted that Harry had gone from the entrance of Diagon Alley to Gringotts— _no surprise there. One must have money to enjoy the Alley_.—and had followed this up with several stops on Wandering Lane. Since Dumbledore knew that Harry was with Hermione Granger, this also didn’t surprise him. Flourish and Blotts was a marvelous store, but Wandering Lane was famous throughout the Wizarding World for its rare and specialized bookstores. They had gone to Madam Tufty’s next and then back to the Leaky Cauldron. Dumbledore noted that Harry hadn’t stopped at any of his usual haunts on Diagon Alley, but he wasn’t worried. It was still early in the month, after all.

The map did not show that Harry and Hermione had stopped at Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. After all, the Grand Opening wasn’t happening until Friday.

**

(Spinner’s End, August 3)

The sun was just slipping under the horizon when Severus Snape unlocked the door to his cottage. Standing in the doorway, he used his wand to check the wards and various other magical measures he had in place to protect his privacy. Satisfied that nothing had been disturbed, he stepped inside and turned on the lights. Three letters and several rolled up newspapers that lay on the hearth caught his eye.

Severus Snape was a man who was constantly on the move. He currently divided his time between Spinner’s End, Hogwarts, Malfoy Manor, and a potions lab in the southwestern United States. That didn’t, of course, include the trips he’d made recently to speak with Harry Potter. Since he was never certain where he was going to be at any given time, he had applied for, and received, a Ministry Letter Drop Charm on his chimney. Rather than wait for his return, owls would drop his mail in the small box on his roof and it would simply fall down the chimney to land on the hearth. Since Snape had no need of fires in his house, he had found this to be the easiest way to handle his correspondence. Both Dumbledore and the Dark Lord had ways of contacting him for urgent matters and Snape made a point of returning to Spinner’s End at least once a week to check his mail. Making a mental note to speak to Harry about alternate means of contact, Snape shrugged off his cloak, picked up his mail and sank into the easy chair that sat by the hearth. With a negligent wave, a bright and cheerful flame sprang into the hearth. This was not a real fire, but a very good illusion. If he had guests, Snape could even cause it to radiate heat. It wasn’t necessary, of course, but he liked the look of the thing and it made others feel more at ease.

Putting the newspapers aside for the moment, Snape examined the letters. There was one from Dumbledore, one from a friend of his at the American potions lab, and one that bore no signs of who might have sent it. His curiosity piqued, Snape put the other two letters in the pile with the newspapers and ran his wand over the mysterious third. After ascertaining that it was not jinxed, hexed, or enchanted in any way, he opened it. Unfolding a creamy, thick piece of parchment, he read:

_Dear Blood:_

_I am writing to you because I am desperate and have no one else to turn to. I can only hope that our years of friendship mean more to you than your allegiance to the Dark Lord. As I’m sure you know by now, I have decided to leave His service. I thought I had found a safe haven, but now I find myself confronted with a new threat. On July 31, my family’s legacy was claimed. I do not know by whom, but I am terrified that it might have been Smoke. I went into Diagon Alley with the intention of talking the goblins into giving me the information I need, but discovered that both the Dark Lord and the Birdbrains have posted guards all over the Alley. I was able to escape unrecognized, but I dare not risk a second journey._

_Blood, I need you. Please find out who has claimed the legacy. All I need is a name. You can go into Gringotts openly and without any difficulty and I know that the goblins will not speak of your business there to anyone—not even to Dumbledore. If our friendship has ever meant anything to you, I beg you to do this one small thing for me._

_Yours,_

_Bones_

Severus sat back in his chair and closed his eyes, a wave a relief washing over him. Narcissa was safe. She had disappeared the night that Lucius had been arrested and Draco had vanished within minutes of stepping onto Platform 9 ¾. The fact that she was using family magic to conceal herself explained why nobody had been able to find her. Snape’s lip curled in amusement when he thought about how enraged Bellatrix would be if se ever knew. 

Withdrawing a quill and some parchment from a drawer in the table, he began to write.

_Bones_

_I cannot tell you what a relief it was to receive your letter and to know that you are safe. As it happens, I know who claimed your House’s legacy and I can assure you that it was not Smoke. In fact, I’m fairly certain she doesn’t realize that it exists, let alone that she might have had a claim to it. I can swear to you on whatever you like that the person who did claim the legacy will not turn you over to the Dark Lord under any circumstances._

_As it happens, I believe that it would be a very good idea for you to meet this individual and to swear fealty to him. If you trust me to do so, I will arrange this meeting and send you a portkey. I should caution you about two things: First, your son should not attend this first meeting with you. I will not go into details now, but his presence will complicate an already delicate situation. If the Dark Lord’s plans come to fruition, he will soon be Head of his own House and it may be advisable for him to swear fealty on his own behalf, but until such time, it is best if he and the Head of your house are not in the same room together. You will understand why shortly._

_Second, I would like you to give some serious thoughts as to where your loyalties lie. This is not meant to be a censure or a warning, merely some advice. Times are changing, Bones, and your new Head is at the very center of the oncoming storm. If what I suspect is true, you and your son could both do very well in the new world he is going to build for us all, but only if you devote yourselves to his cause without condition or reservation. This will mean letting go of some of your fondly cherished dreams and beliefs, but I think that the end result will be well worth the effort. I say this to you now because your Head knows who you are, though I doubt you’ve met, and will be inclined to distrust you. I know you have it within you to earn his favor, but it would be very unwise of you to abuse his trust, once it is given._

_Think about what I’ve said. If you still wish to meet with your Head, send an owl to my house—I will be here for the next several days. If you decide that you are not prepared to swear fealty to your Head, I will at least obtain his assurance that you can stay in your present location without fear of persecution._

_All my love,_

_Blood._

Rolling up the parchment, Snape stepped over to one of the small windows in his cottage and picked up a small whistle from its place on the sill. Opening the window, he blew a short series of notes on the whistle and waited patiently for the owl to come. He actually owned several owls, all of whom had nests in the trees around the cottage. He did not use tis particular one often, however, and he knew that neither Dumbledore nor the Dark Lord recognized it as belonging to him. Handing the letter to the owl, he whispered the recipient’s name into its ear. Nodding, it took off. Satisfied, Snape returned to his chair and opened the letter from Dumbledore. The note was brief and to the point.

_Severus_

_If it is not too late, please come and see me. I wish to hear your report on the meeting Tom had with his followers today._

_Albus Dumbledore._

Snape grimaced. How the _hell_ had Dumbledore known about that? More to the point, why was he risking his life pretending to be a Death Eater if the old man had other ways of spying on the Dark Lord? He tossed the letter aside. Dumbledore had no way of knowing how early or late he’d come in and he was damned if he was going up to the castle tonight. The Headmaster could bloody well wait until tomorrow for his report.

Using his wand, Snape burned Dumbledore’s missive, but made a mental note to Floo up to the castle first thing in the morning. It was best to get that nonsense out of the way as soon as possible. He looked at the letter from his American friend with longing—it was thick and, Snape knew, a lengthy and thoughtful response to a number of questions he’d asked at their last meeting, but he restrained himself. _First we work, then we play_.

Sitting back in his chair, Snape closed his eyes and ordered his mind. He had spent more than half his life acting as a spy and he’d found that the only way to be successful at it was to take the time, whenever possible, to “clear out” his mind and to order his thoughts and priorities. Currently, he sorted his thoughts into three categories—Dumbledore, Voldemort, and Harry.

Dumbledore was the easiest to deal with—the old man wanted to know what had happened and the meeting and Snape was more than willing to tell him. Nagini had gone missing at around the same time Draco Malfoy had. She had been gone for over a month now and the Dark Lord was becoming frantic in his efforts to find her. He was certain that she was still alive, but unable to find her using any of his usual tricks. At first, he’d just assumed she’d gone off on one of her usual hunting trips. She did this occasionally, turning up a week or two later with a full belly and an expression of satisfaction, but she’d been gone for over a month now. Voldemort was so desperate to find her that he’d even begun enlisting his Death Eaters in the search. _Dumbledore will be pleased_. Snape thought. The Headmaster had always suspected that Nagini was a Horcrux and Voldemort’s behavior seemed to confirm that suspicion.

As for Voldemort himself, Snape frowned. He was going to have to keep the Dark Lord’s attention on Nagini and off of Narcissa and Draco, at least until he could get Narcissa and Harry into a room together. Bellatrix was ignorant about family magics, it was true, but eventually, she would remember that the Black family owned properties throughout England that could serve as excellent hiding places for her sister and nephew. Once she made this connection, a systematic search would begin and it would be only a matter of time before Narcissa and Draco were caught. He hoped that Narcissa would see the sense of swearing fealty to Harry—only he could offer her real protection against her enemies. 

That thought brought him to Harry. He was impressed at how _reasonable_ the boy was being. While Snape was certain that Harry didn’t trust him, he was at least taking the time to listen to what his potions master had to say and wasn’t simply ignoring him out of spite or anger. Snape gave a lot of the credit for this to Hermione Granger. He’d found the girl in the Oxford library and it had taken a good deal of work to convince her that he truly was on Harry’s side, but it had been well worth the effort. Still, he mused, he was going to have to do more to earn Harry’s trust—especially if he was going to convince the boy to protect Narcissa and Draco. There was only one way to do that, he knew. It was time to tell Harry the truth about himself.

**

**(Note:**

A correction. In re-reading what I’ve written so far, I realized that I’ve gotten myself into a slight muddle with dates/days of the week. So, from now on, July 31 was a Saturday and Chapter Nine occurred on Tuesday, August 3. Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes will open on Friday, August 6. OK? OK!)

**

(The Leaky Cauldron, Thursday, August 5)

Hermione’s mind was reeling and her cup of tea sat, forgotten, on the table beside her. Snape had finished talking and they gazed silently at Harry, who was pacing back and forth, almost oblivious to their presence.

Snape had just spent the past twenty minutes telling them his life story—how he’d met Lily Evans when they were children and how he, Lily, James, and Sirius had bonded on their first trip on the Hogwarts Express. In his third year, he’d begun eavesdropping on the older Slytherins and warning his Gryffindor friends about their plans and this had led to his recruitment as a charter member of the Order of the Phoenix in his fifth year. It was Dumbledore who had convinced him to take the mark then, after Voldemort’s fall, used it against Snape to blackmail him into taking an Unbreakable Vow of loyalty.

Hermione had always known that the Potions Master was cunning, but she hadn’t realized until now just how clever he really was. He’d managed to find ways around Dumbledore’s orders at almost every possible turn. Dumbledore had ordered him never to tell Harry that he was the last Pendragon, so he’d told Hermione and _she’d_ told Harry. Once Harry knew the truth, Snape had been free to speak of the matter as much as he pleased. Five years of doing everything possible to avoid Snape told Hermione that he couldn’t be trusted, but there was something deeper…something she couldn’t understand…that convinced her he was telling the truth. She only hoped that Harry was listening to that same inner voice. His silence was unnerving and she wondered if he was about to explode in anger. He had matured a great deal over the past year, but he was still a sixteen year old boy with a temper.

The silence seemed to drag on forever, even though Hermione knew that only a few minutes had passed before Harry finally stopped, turned to them and spoke.

“Severus Snape. I offer you the protection of House Pendragon. Will you swear fealty and be my good and loyal servant?” Hermione gasped. She and Harry had spent the past day and a a half going through the books he’d pulled from his family vaults and in that time, she’d come to understand more fully that Harry truly was a king among wizards. The reality of what that meant hadn’t really sunk in until now, however. Harry stood before them, skinny, bespectacled and straddling that awkward place between boyhood and manhood and yet, at that moment, his very presence was so powerful that Hermione had to resist the urge to drop to her knees.

‘I will.” The look of relief on Snape’s face was almost painful to see. Hermione realized that this was probably what he had wanted, but he’d expected to have to work harder for it. Snape dropped to one knee and held his hands up before him, palms together. Harry moved forward and placed his own hands on top of Snape’s. Hermione had the strange feeling that neither man was completely aware or in control of his own movements—it was as if the magic within them both was driving them forward. Fortunately, it seemed to be driving them someplace they both wanted to go, but a small voice in the back of Hermione’s mind wondered what would happen if the magic wanted one thing and Harry wanted another.

“I, Severus, of the House of Snape do solemoly swear on my honor, my magic, and my life that I will faithfully serve the House of Pendragon and all those who dwell within it. I shall protect, defend, aid, and comfort House Pendragon with all that I am and all that I have. Your enemies shall be my enemies. Your secrets shall be my secrets. This I swear for myself and my descendants unto the third generation. So mote it be.” Snape’s voice was hushed, as if reciting a prayer.

“I, Harry, of the House of Pendragon do solemnly swear to guard and protect the House of Snape—its honor, its magic, and the lives of all those who dwell within it. I will shelter all those in House Snape in times of sorrow and rejoice with them in times of gladness. I honor the service you have offered and gladly accept it until the third generation. So mote it be.” Their joined hands began to glow and Hermione saw tendrils of magic flowing up the arms of the two men until their bodies were engulfed in light. In that moment, they seemed more than man and boy, they seemed to her to be the embodiments of all they had sworn and all those who had done the same before them. It was one of the most profound things she’d ever seen in her life.

The moment passed and the light faded. Harry and Snape both blinked and, blushing slightly, Harry released Snape’s hands.

“Wow.” He breathed. Hermione thought he looked a little dizzy.

“Indeed.” Snape smirked. “Thank you, Potter.”

“That oath….” Harry seemed to be having a bit of trouble speaking. “That cancels out all your other oaths, right? I mean, that trumps Dumbledore’s Unbreakable Vow?”

“I believe it does, but there is only one way to find out.” Snape paused and seemed to be steeling himself for something. “Albus Dumbledore ordered me to pry open your mind under the guise of teaching you Occlumency.” There was a pause, but nothing happened. Snape seemed to sag. “There’s your answer, Potter. I was specifically ordered not to tell you that.”

“Dumbledore wanted me to be vulnerable to Voldemort?” Harry’s jaw had fallen open. “But why?”

“Dumbledore has been trying to provoke a confrontation between you and Voldemort since the day he found out about that blasted Prophecy.” Snape said. “Killing a man in cold blood marks a Wizard in ways that are impossible to disguise. Dumbledore knows that a great deal of his power is derived from the fact that people see him as being a Light wizard, opposed to Vodemort’s Dark. That reputation would be destroyed if he killed you—or anyone else for that matter—so he has tried to arrange things so that Voldemort kills you. He’s been rather put out by your stubborn refusal to cooperate.”

“But what about the prophecy?” Hermione protested. 

“As you yourself are fond of saying, Divination is not a precise art.” Snape replied. “Most prophecies tell of possible futures rather than certainties, and they are all open to some rather broad interpretation.”

“Right. Okay.” To Hermione’s relief, Harry finally sat down. “So, here’s where we are. Dumbledore is trying everything he can to kill me without actually killing me himself—he’s using Frances and the conditions attached to my legacy…”

“Frances?” Snape arched an eyebrow and Hermione snickered.

“We were in Diagon Alley and didn’t want anyone to know we were talking about You-Know-Who.” She explained. “So he became Frances.”

“An apt name.” Snape said, judiciously. “Go on.”

“We’ve got Frances who desperately needs to be killed, only he’s split his soul into fragments and hidden them in objects that mean something to him and in Nagini. We think one piece of his soul may have made its way into me, but there’s no way of telling that for sure.”

“Not right now.” Snape agreed. “There are some shamans in the United States who might be able to help with that. I can contact them on your behalf.”

“Please do.” Harry nodded. “Finally, I’ve got to meet all the conditions for both the Pendragon and Black legacies by my seventeenth birthday or the goblins and elves and centaurs and all the other magical creatures will kill me. Have I forgotten anything?” Hermione thought, then shook her head. Suddenly, she felt quite frightened. “Right.” Harry sighed and then looked straight at her.

“Hermione, this is it. This is the point of no return. You’ve heard what I’m up against….and that’s just the start of it. Once I’ve dealt with Dumbledore, there will be the rest of the Knights of Walpurgis and anyone else who doesn’t like what I’m doing….”

“Stop it, Harry.” She spoke quietly, but firmly. “I know exactly how dangerous this is…to you and to me….and _I’m not going anywhere_. If you want me out of this, you’ll have to Obliviate me and never speak to me again!” Harry stared at her for a long moment and Hermione was seized with terror. It hadn’t occurred to her until she’d said it that Harry could very well do just that…. He could order Snape to erase her memories or he could do it using only his will. No one would ever know…..

“Hermione Granger, I offer you the protection of House Pendragon. Will you swear fealty and be my good and loyal consort?” Hermione opened her mouth to say ‘yes’ but the last word caught her attention.

“Wait…. _consort_?” Harry blinked and looked confused.

“Did I say that out loud?” Suddenly, Harry began to blush furiously. “Uh….oh dear.”

“Consort.” Hermione repeated the word and thought furiously. Harry had allowed her to read the grimoires, which were a combination of Family Magic instruction manual, genealogy chart, family history, and private diary and she had a fairly good notion of what the term meant. In short, Harry had just asked her to marry him….more than that, he’d asked her to be his Queen. Hermione knew that Harry could take as many wives as he wished, but each House could only have one Consort. The Consort was a position of great power, political, social, and magical—not just a lover, but a friend, counselor, and bodyguard.

All this flashed through Hermione’s mind, but the thing that stuck was that Harry had just proposed marriage. And she was going to say yes. There was no debate or struggle in her mind. Hermione knew she loved Harry—she wasn’t _in love_ with him, but she could sense that was the way her heart had been drifting for over a year. As Consort, she was assured of a place by Harry’s side for the rest of her life and in that moment, she realized that there was nothing she wanted more in the world.

_Is this the magic_? She wondered. She considered the matter carefully, but came to the conclusion that she was acting on her own instincts and nothing more. With that settled, she turned to Harry. When she spoke, it was in a calm, clear voice. 

“I will.” She had no way of knowing it, but in that moment, Hermione Granger looked every inch a Queen.

**

There was a moment of silence as Harry stared at Hermione, his mind and heart rocketing back and forth between joy, fear, astonishment, and bewilderment. He was grateful, therefore, when Snape gave a delicate cough.

“If I may make a suggestion? Perhaps Miss Granger could swear an Oath of Fealty now and you could put off any further action until….” Harry almost laughed as Hermione turned to the Potions Master, clearly about to give him a rather large piece of her mind. “Please, Miss Granger…” Snape held up a hand before she could interrupt. “I have no doubt of your sincerity nor of your commitment to Mr. Potter or his to you. However, there are certain facts that make it inadvisable for you to act fully on that commitment at this time. First and foremost, I have had the impression that Mr. Potter wishes to keep his new status a secret from everyone….especially Albus Dumbledore. Am I correct?”

“Yes.” Harry nodded. “I don’t want him to know what’s going on until I’m sure he can’t interfere.”

“Indeed. If the two of you were to bond as Consorts now, it would be impossible to hide that fact. To be quite blunt, once the bond is sworn, you two will be shagging like bunnies until Miss Granger gets pregnant.”

Harry was so startled by this that he let out a snort of laughter, while Hermione seemed to be having trouble deciding whether to be amused or horrified.

“But why?” she asked. “I mean I know that we’re teenagers and full of hormones and all that, but…”

“It’s the magic.” The realization burst in Harry’s brain like a firework. “I’m the last of the Pendragon line and the magic wants to ensure its own survival…”

“Exactly.” Snape said. “You are destined to be a young father, Mr. Potter. Once you enter into any sort of marriage bond, your urge to reproduce will be overwhelming. Unless you or someone under your care is in mortal danger, you will literally be unable to think of anything but sex until your wife becomes pregnant. That brings up another point, Miss Granger. I think it would be wise for you to become comfortable with your situation before entering into a formal arrangement. You do realize that Mr. Potter will have multiple wives, don’t you?”

“I….uh…” Hermione blushed furiously. “I know that he’s supposed to have a Consort for each House….”

“It’s more than that.” Harry said, gently. “Hermione, I will be expected to marry girls…women…from a number of different families. Did you look at the family trees in the grimoires?”

“No.” she admitted. “Not closely.”

“I’m the last Pendragon and….and there aren’t many Blacks left in the direct line either. All those Pure-blood families intermarried so much that they’re actually dying out. There’s just the three sisters—Andromeda, Bellatrix, and Narcissa, plus Tonks and Draco. Part of my job as the Head of the family is to….well, it’s to nurture the magic and to help it grow. I’ll do that by having kids. Lots and lots of kids.”

“Mr. Potter is will also need to marry the daughters of a number of old and respected families in order to gain their support.” Snape fixed his gaze on Hermione’s face. “You and I swear our oaths willingly and without condition, but it will not always be so easy. Many families will require a marriage contract before they will swear fealty.”

“But….how is that possible?” Hermione looked from one to the other. “There are laws against polygamy…”

“Muggle laws.” Said Snape. “Wizards do not have laws regarding marriage as it is a magical contract. Witches and wizards may marry as many people as they like, but most choose to copy the Muggles and limit themselves to one spouse.”

“He’s right.” Harry couldn’t look Hermione in the eye as he spoke. “I’ll have a lot of wives and I’ll have lots of children with them. You….you wouldn’t be allowed to take any other husbands, though…..I don’t think the magic would even let you consider it. It’s unfair, I know, but we would have to be absolutely certain that any children you had were mine.” Finally, he looked up and was surprised to see that she didn’t look angry. She was staring at him intently, as if trying to absorb the full meaning of what he was saying. “I meant what I said, Hermione. I want you for my Consort…more than I think you’ll ever know….but this won’t work if you have even the slightest problem with the fact that I will be dating, marrying, and having sex with other women.”

There was a long pause while they stared at one another. Finally, Hermione gave a sharp little nod.

“You’re both right. I can accept all of this on an intellectual level, but it is going to take some time to get used to the idea. I’ll swear an Oath of Fealty now and we can discuss the…the Consort bond after Harry’s life isn’t in danger.”

“Very good.” Snape gave them a rare smile. “Now, on to another subject. Mr. Potter, you brought up the names of Narcissa and Draco Malfoy….”

**

(Black Manor – Thursday, August 5)

Draco Malfoy couldn’t sit still. His mother had vanished, via Portkey, to some mysterious destination to meet some mysterious person who apparently held their fate in his hands and the mysteriousness of it all was driving him crazy. The last few weeks had been hell for him and if it wasn’t for the fact that he’d promised his mother he’d stay at the manor and guard their….insurance…he would have cast a tracking spell ages ago, Underage Use of Magic restrictions be damned!

It was difficult, Draco reflected, being an adult. He hadn’t realized how much he’d been treated—and acted—like a child until his father had been arrested and his mother had snatched him from King’s Cross station and brought him to Black Manor. At first, she had refused to tell him what was happening and why he was forbidden from entering a particular room on the second floor, but after three days, he’d put his foot down and insisted that she treat him as an adult. He could still remember the cold, hard look on his face when she’d asked him if he was prepared to _act_ like one. He’d never seen his mother as a remotely threatening figure, but in that moment, he’d understood that, in many ways, his mother was far more terrifying than his father had ever been.

It had been nearly two hours. How long could it possibly take to swear an oath? Conscious of the fact that this could all be some elaborate trap, Narcissa had given him instructions about what to do in the event that she didn’t return, but shed cautioned him to wait at least six hours before doing anything. Draco wasn’t sure he could restrain himself for that long.

He was making his third tour of the library when he felt the distinct surge of energy that signified that someone had appeared within the wards. He gripped his wand tightly—either his mother had returned or the manor was under attack.

“Draco?” He sagged with relief when he heard his mother’s voice. “Where are you?”

“In the library.” He tried to sound calm and collected, but was fairly certain he had failed miserably. All pretense of composure was dropped when he saw her enter the room, a broad smile on her face. Without a word, he grabbed her in a fierce embrace.

“Shhh….shhhhh, love.” She was stroking his back and Draco discovered, to his astonishment, that he was weeping. “It’s all right. Everything is going to be all right.” After a moment, he stepped back and turned away, blushing furiously.

“Don’t do that….please don’t shut me out.” She laid a hand on his arm. “You never need to be ashamed of showing your emotions in front of me, Draco. I would never mock or condemn you for them.” She didn’t say _not like your father_ , but the words hung in the air, heard, for all that they weren’t spoken. Draco took a deep breath and turned to face her again.

“I was worried.” He allowed, with a rueful smile. “I didn’t think you’d be gone this long.”

“Come sit by the fire.” Narcissa took his arm and guided him to one of the wing-back chairs. “We have much to discuss.” Taking the seat opposite his, she conjured up a tea set and began to pour. Narcissa’s power and abilities had come as a revelation to her son and he often found himself wondering why she had never used them before this summer.

“Did you swear the Oath?” he asked, taking the cup she passed him.

“I did.” She nodded. “I am very glad that Blood was there, though. I don’t think my Lord would have accepted my Oath without his intervention. He did, however, and now I can tell you everything.”

“Everything?” Draco arched an eyebrow. “Will you finally tell me who Blood is?” He knew that Blood was a dear friend of hers from her days at Hogwarts, but beyond that, she’d refused to tell him anything.

“Oh, _that_.” Draco was surprised to see his mother throw back her head and laugh. He couldn’t remember the last time _that_ had happened. “Blood is my nickname for Severus Snape. He calls me Bones, by the way.”

“Professor Snape?” Draco thought his eyes were going to pop right out of his skull. “But he’s a Death Eater…you said so yourself.”

“I thought he was.” Narcissa admitted. “Until today I believed that he was more devoted to the Dark Lord’s cause than even your Aunt Bellatrix. When I wrote to him, I had only my hope that our friendship might mean more to him…at least long enough for me to get the information I needed. What I didn’t know until today is that Severus Snape is no more loyal to the Dark Lord than I am. He has been acting as a spy since we were at Hogwarts!”

“A spy?” Draco was intrigued. “For who? Dumbledore?”

“Yes….and others. I’ll let him give you the details later. All you need to know for now is that Albus Dumbledore is not nearly as Light as he wants people to believe he is. He, and others like him, have been working to destroy the old families and the Wild Magic!” She nodded at Draco’s gasp. “Severus Snape has set himself against Albus Dumbledore and now, so have I. So has my Lord.”

“He’s our Lord, isn’t he?” Draco asked. “Doesn’t your Oath bind me as well?”

“That rather depends on circumstances…and on you.” Narcissa leaned back in her chair, eyeing her son. “You see, the Dark Lord intends to break your father and all those with him out of Azkaban. It is very likely that, should your father survive this ‘rescue’, the Dark Lord will kill him for his failure to capture either Potter or the Prophecy.” Her words hung in the air and Draco was somewhat surprised to discover that the idea of his father being killed didn’t particularly bother him. After a moment, Narcissa continued. “On your father’s death, you will have a choice. You can either accept your position as the Head of House Malfoy or you can be accepted into House Black. The Malfoy line is young and has little House Magic of its own, but should you choose to become its Head, you can ensure that the line will continue and flourish. You would also be able to choose whether to swear an Oath of Fealty and which Lord you wished to ally yourself with. If you are accepted into House Black, you are bound by my Oath.”

“I can choose my Lord?” Draco asked, his interest piqued.

“Well…yes, but it’s not really much of a choice.” Narcissa cautioned. “Thanks to the interference of Dumbledore and his kind, there are only three Great Houses left—Black, Pendragon, and Longbottom.” She paused as Draco snorted. Giving him a warning glare, she continued. “Furthermore, the houses of Black and Pendragon share the same Head.”

“Who is it?” 

“Sirius’ son. I know….” She held up a hand to forestall his objections. “I know I said that Sirius didn’t have any children. I was wrong. Apparently, he met a Muggle-born witch at school and was afraid that his mother would have her killed, so he kept the relationship a secret. It turns out that this girl was descended from the line of Pendragon. When she became pregnant, she and Sirius were desperate to keep the baby’s true paternity a secret, so she married another man and claimed that the baby was his.”

“Who is it?” Draco repeated. He knew his mother well enough to know that her refusal to give him a direct answer was not a good sign. She sighed.

“It’s Harry Potter, Draco. I have sworn myself to serve Harry Potter.”

**

Draco was walking in the garden. As she watched him from the window of her private sitting room, Narcissa’s pride welled up inside her and threatened to engulf every other rational thought in her head. She had expected him to throw a temper tantrum on discovering that Harry Potter was now her liege-lord and, quite possibly, his as well. She hadn’t, however, expected him to collect himself so quickly, nor had she anticipated the thoughtful, intelligent questions he’d posed to her regarding his choices and how they might affect his future.

_He is becoming a man_ she said to herself over and over and the thought made her proud, it was true, but it also made her terribly sad. She was the first to admit that she had treated him as a child for far longer than was good for either of them, but she’d desperately needed that connection….that dependence he’d felt upon her to protect him from the wrath of his father or, worse, Lucius Malfoy’s complete indifference. She had petted him and spoiled him and the harshest words she’d said to him had been “You sound _exactly_ like your father.” Now, though the process was slow and painful, Draco was finally growing up and she was letting go. He still needed her and, more importantly, she still needed _him_ , but Narcissa knew that if the worst happened, Draco was no longer defenseless against the world.

This situation was a case in point. Though he hand ranted and railed against the very idea that he might be expected to serve _Harry Potter_ , Draco had acknowledged that he bore as much responsibility for their mutual animosity, if not more, than Potter did and that there were certainly advantages to allying themselves with the Boy-Who-Lived. Draco was, his mother knew, far more intelligent and ambitious than Lucius had ever been and he could hardly fail to see the opportunities that this new alliance presented to him.

“What do you think he will do?” She turned away from the window and a smile came, unbidden, to her lips. Part of the reason she felt able to let go of Draco was the renewal of her friendship with Severus Snape. He was sitting in a chair by the fire, sipping tea and, for a moment, she could imagine that the last seventeen years of their lives hadn’t happened.

“I think he will carry on the Malfoy name and legacy.” She replied. “I have come to discover that Draco is quite ambitious and he feels he’ll be able to go further with his own name than with mine, even if he does have to contend with those who will blame him for his father’s mistakes.”

“You’re right, I’m sure.” Severus nodded. “Will he swear to Potter?”

“I’m not certain, but I believe he will.” Narcissa nodded. “I think I’m made him see that he will not be able to stand against the Dark Lord on his own. Unless he wants to take the Dark Mark or die, he must either swear to Potter or choose to join the Black family and be bound by my oath.”

“He could always swear to Augusta Longbottm.” Narcissa let out an indelicate snort of laughter.

“Have you ever _met_ Augusta Longbottom? The woman is as hard as stone, Severus , and my sister tortured her son and his wife into insanity. I highly doubt she’d accept Draco’s oath and if she did….” She shivered. “I dare not think what she would force him to do if he was bound to her. I suppose Draco could always go to Dumbledore for protection…”

“That’s a short-term solution at best.” Severus interrupted. “Albus Dumbledore has made himself an enemy of the House of Pendragon and Harry fully intends to make that old man feel the full measure of his anger in due course. While the Dark Lord lives, Dumbledore and all those loyal to him are safe, but once Tom Riddle is dead, woe betide anyone who has willingly sworn faith to the Headmaster.”

“Do you really think he’ll be able to do it?” Narcissa asked. “I mean….Harry. Do you really think he can defeat both the Dark Lord and Albus Dumbledore? They are the two most powerful wizards in Britain…I daresay, in the world! And each has legions of devoted followers….”

“I truly do not believe Harry will have any difficulty dealing with Voldemort.” Snape sat back and pressed his palms together, tapping his fingertips against his teeth as he thought. “It’s merely a matter of rendering him mortal. Nagini was the missing piece of that puzzle and as you have so cleverly found a way to capture and contain her…” Narcissa bowed her head in acknowledgment of his praise. “it is simply a matter of stealing the other Horcruxes from the Headmaster and destroying them all. Then, it should be easy enough for Harry to dispatch him….assuming the Death Eaters don’t beat him to the punch.”

“And Dumbledore?” 

“That will be a bit more complicated, but destroying the man is not impossible. You forget….Harry doesn’t have to _kill_ Dumbledore. I don’t think he _wants_ to kill him. Did you know that Potter was almost sorted into Slytherin House?”

“What? He was?” Narcissa was taken aback by the sudden change in subject.

“Yes.” Snape was grinning. “The Sorting Hat wanted to put him in Slytherin, but Harry had received some….less than accurate information about our House and the character of its members, so he asked to be put in Gryffindor, instead.”

“That’s…interesting, but I fail to see….”

“Young Harry exhibits all the traits of a true Slytherin—not just the ones that blasted Hat sings about. Deep down, he has the urge to make his enemies _suffer_. I believe that, when he has all the Horcruxes, he intends to kill Nagini first so that the Dark Lord will know what is happening before the end. He doesn’t want Dumbledore to die because he wants to watch the man live out the rest of his years in shame and ignominy. He wants to see the look on Dumbledore’s face when all those who trusted and believed in him turn their backs on him and he wants Dumbledore to live to see the rise of the House of Pendragon and its triumph over the Knights of Walpurgis!” There was a fierce joy in Severus’ eye and Narcissa reflected that Harry Potter wasn’t the only one looking forward to Albus Dumbledore’s downfall.

“It won’t be easy.” She warned. “Harry may be the Boy-Who-Lived, but Albus Dumbledore is the Leader of the Light and most people think that, when Voldemort falls, Potter will wield the sword, but it will be Dumbledore who forged the blade and handed it to him.”

“I know.” Snape nodded. “But we do have some time before things come to a head on that front.”

“We have until Harry’s seventeenth birthday.” She reminded him. “A year isn’t so very long a time….”

“True, but Potter will not confront Dumbledore until his legacies are secure and Voldemort is disposed of. He’s making good progress on the first front and, with Nagini secure, I foresee no exceptional difficulties on the second. We will have to wait until term begins, of course, but I predict that the Dark Lord will be gone by Yule.” Narcissa laughed.

“Oh, Blood….how I love it when you play at Divinations!” she crowed. “Tell me….you said Potter is making progress on claiming his legacies?”

“In less than a week, he’s brought two new houses under the banner of Pendragon…”

“Two?” She arched an eyebrow. “You and…”

“Hermione Granger.”

“Hermione….but she _can’t_ swear fealty! She’s a mudblood!” Without warning, Snape stood up and towered over her. Narcissa felt his gaze pin her as though he was a bird of prey and she, a small, furry snack on legs.

“ _Never_ use that term in my presence again.” His voice was soft, but there was no mistaking the iron in the velvet glove. “I am very glad that we are friends again, Bones, but I told you in my letter that you would have to give up some of these prejudices of yours. Hermione Granger is very intelligent and is far more powerful than either of us right now and when she becomes Potter’s Consort…”

“He’s chosen his Consort already?” she gasped.

“He’s chosen his consort for House Pendragon…but that’s not the point.” Severus snapped. “Granger swore an oath of fealty to Potter and the magic _accepted_ it, just as it accepted your oath and mine. The magic makes no distinction between ‘pure-bloods’ and Muggleborns and neither does Potter. If you want to do well in his service, you’d best remember that!” Breathing deeply, he returned to his chair, though he continued to glare at her. “What is more, it is beginning to look as though there is no such thing as a ‘Muggleborn’ anyway. Over the summer, Miss Granger discovered that she is a descendant of the LeFay line….it’s an old French line that was thought to have died out almost a hundred years ago. Harry inherited the Pendragon legacy through his _mother_ who was, as you know, also a Muggleborn.”

“I see.” Narcissa kept her eyes down and held her breath, waiting for the storm to pass.

“You want to be Consort for House Black, don’t you?” She raised her head quickly and saw, with relief, that the anger had faded from his eyes. “Well then, you’d better get used to the idea that Granger will be Consort for House Pendragon. Make her your friend, Bones. Trust me when I tell you that you do not want to make her your enemy.”

_No, she is not my enemy_ thought Narcissa as she carefully steered the conversation into safer waters. _But she is my inferior. Even if Potter does make her his Consort, I will make sure that I am the one in charge_.

**

(from _The Daily Prophet_ , Friday, August 6)

AZKHABAN GUARDS REVOLT AGAINST MINISTRY!

ALL PRISONERS EITHER ESCAPED OR KILLED!

_The Daily Prophet_ has learned that the Dementors who serve as the guards at Azkaban prison have staged a mass revolt, killing more than thirty prison officials and inmates and aiding in the scape of twenty more. The revolt, which began at approximately nine o’clock last night, was carried out with speed and precision and only one human prison worker—file clerk Wenditha Umbago—was able to escape detection and, presumably, death. Ms. Umbago sent a message via Patronus to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement at around midnight last night, reporting the attack and requesting assistance.

The Dementors, who seem to have been acting under the orders of You-Know-Who, first kissed every human guard and official in Azkaban at the time of the revolt (Ms. Umbago excepted), then released all the prisoners. According to the statement Ms. Umbago gave to the DMLE, those prisoners who were not already marked Death Eaters were offered a choice—serving You-Know-Who or death. Of the fifteen prisoners who were not in Azkaban for You-Know-Who-related crimes, only three chose to serve him. In a surprising development, _The Daily Prophet_ has learned that not all of You-Know-Who’s supporters escaped Azkaban alive. Lucius Malfoy, who was arrested last spring after leading a raid on the Ministry of Magic and using Unforgivable Curses on minors, was found dead. Mr. Malfoy was a known Death Eater, so his demise is particularly mysterious….

**

(The Leaky Cauldron, Friday, August 6 – 9:30 a.m.)

“Mum….” Ginny called, stepping out into the corridor of the Leaky Cauldron. “Have you seen….oh!” She let out a yelp as something tugged at her arm.

“Quiet.” She heard someone whisper in her ear. “It’s me, Hermione. I’m wearing Harrys invisibility cloak.”

“Yes, Ginny? What is it?” Ginny froze for the briefest of moment, then flashed her mother an embarrassed smile.

“Never mind, Mum. I was looking for Fred and George and I’ve only just remembered that they’re not staying with us. It’s so _weird_ not having them around….”

“I know, dear.” Molly gave her daughter a sympathetic smile. “I keep expecting them to pop in…”

“Expecting who to pop in?” Fred’s sudden appearance made his mother shriek.

“Don’t _do_ that!” Mrs. Weasley swatted at her son’s arm.

“Do what?” She shrieked again as George appeared directly behind her. Under the cover of her mother’s angry yelling, Ginny heard Hermione whisper in her ear.

“See if you can round the twins up and meet me in the private parlor…the last door on the left after you pass the kitchen. Don’t tell your Mum and Dad and, whatever you do, _don’t_ tell Ron.” Ginny felt the pressure on her arm disappear and a slight breath of air by her cheek told her that Hermione had moved away. Coming to a quick decision, Ginny stepped forward and grabbed both of her twin brothers by an ear.

“You two.” She said, doing her best impression of their mother “Come with me.” Without another word, she dragged them off towards the stairs, only letting go when she was sure their mother was out of earshot.

“Ow, Ginny! What gives?” Fred massaged his ear and glared at his sister.

“Sorry.” She said, sounding anything but “But Hermione’s wandering around the Leaky Cauldron using Harry Potter’s Invisibility Cloak. She wants to meet the three of us and said not to tell Mum or Dad and especially not to tell Ron.”

“Curiouser and curiouser.” Fred, who had a penchant for Muggle literature, arched an eyebrow. “Lead on, sister mine.” It took them a while to get through the crowd in the bar—most of whom were Weasley cousins, aunts, and in-laws—but they finally managed to make it to the door of the small parlor. Not bothering to knock, Ginny opened the door and stepped inside….only to freeze in place on the threshold, causing both Fred and George to bump into her.

“Blimey, Ginny, what….?” Fred’s voice died out as he caught sight of the people in the room. “What are _you_ doing here?”

“Shut the door!” Hermione snapped. She was standing by the fireplace and appeared to have been holding a conversation with Professor Snape. Harry was standing next to the couch, on which Draco and Narcissa Malfoy were seated. Dazed, the Weasleys did as they were told, but remained clustered around the door, unsure of what to do next.

“Fred….George….Ginny!” Harry was smiling, but Ginny could see the tension in his face and body as he moved forward to greet them. “Thanks for coming. I know this looks weird….”

“That’s one word for it.” George muttered.

“But I promise I’ll explain everything.” Harry pointedly ignored the comment. “First, though, I need you to promise me that you won’t say anything to _anyone_ about what I’m about to tell you Not your Mum and Dad and _especially_ not Ron!”

“We promise!” Fred and George said in unison.

“Why not?” Ginny frowned. “I thought Ron was your best friend….”

“He is.” Harry assured her. “But…but someone’s been using Ron to spy on me and he doesn’t even know it. Until I figure out how to stop it, he can’t know anything about this. Understand?”

“Yes,” Ginny nodded reluctantly “but what about Mum and Dad?”

“I’ll talk to them tonight.” Harry promised her. “I just didn’t want to dump this in their laps when they’ve got all your family…”

“All right.” Ginny sighed. “I promise not to say anything.”

“Good.” Quickly, Harry outlined the events that had occurred in the last week. By the end of his narration, all three Weasleys were staring at him, mouths open in shock.

“Wow.” Fred was the first to speak. “And you’re sure Dumbledore is really trying to kill you?”

“I’m as certain as I can be without actually hearing the man recite a detailed confession.” Harry shrugged. “But you see why I need to keep this quiet for now…”

“Yeah.” George nodded. “But what have they….” He nodded in the direction of the Malfoys who were talking quietly together “got to do with it?”

“Did you see the newspaper this morning?” Harry asked. All three Weasleys nodded. “Well, with his Dad dead, Draco became Head of House Malfoy. Up until now, his mother’s been using Black family magic to protect him, but now that he’s the Head of his own House, that won’t work anymore. Draco swore fealty to the House of Black this morning. I’m now responsible for keeping him safe.” There was a wry twist to Harry’s mouth that told Ginny he wasn’t exactly thrilled at the thought.

“All right.” She spoke slowly. “What do you need from us?”

“Hermione thinks that Dumbledore might have used the same spell on your parents as he used on Ron.” Harry explained. All three Weasleys looked horrified at the notion and the twins started to protest. “Think about it….Fred, George, you remember the first time you brought me to the Burrow, don’t you?”

“When we rescued you with the flying car? Yeah.” Fred shrugged. “So?”

“You told your Mum that there were _bars_ on my window and that the Dursleys were starving me and she said _nothing_ about it. All she did was try to stuff me like a Christmas turkey. Now, does that sound like your Mum? I know she was mad about the car and everything, but really….” 

“He’s right.” Ginny said, slowly. “Mum and Dad think of Harry as another son and yet they’ve _never_ said one word about all the danger he’s been in. You remember how mad they got after they found out everything Ron did at the end of his first year, don’t you?”

“Yeah…” Fred looked thoughtful. “And she won’t hear a _word_ against Albus Dumbledore…neither will Dad.”

“I just need you to help us see if Hermione is right.” Harry explained. Reaching into his pocket, he pulled out a small piece of paper which he handed to George. “Here’s a spell she found in one of the grimoires. It will show if someone has any active Pendragon spells on them. I need you to cast it on your Mum or Dad…both of them, if you can. I’d do it, but I can’t get anywhere near them without Ron finding out and reporting it to Dumbledore and Hermione is still underage and would get in trouble with the Ministry. There is a catch, though…”

“Of course there is.” Fred chuckled. “What is it?”

“If your Mum and Dad have had Pendragon magic cast on them, then they’ll glow briefly. If we’re wrong and Dumbledore hasn’t done anything to them, it won’t matter, but if we’re right and you use the spell on them…”

“Everyone will know something is up.” Ginny nodded in understanding.

“What do you think, Fred?” George turned to his twin, a strange light in his eye.

“I think a demonstration of that Italian love powder ought to do the trick.” Fred grinned. “It’s great, Harry. If you’re standing near someone you’re in love with, you’ll both glow the same color. We can cast the spell on Mum and Dad while we’re using the powder on everyone else in the shop!”

“Brilliant!” The look of relief on Harry’s face was almost painful for Ginny to see. “I promise, I’ll tell them everything tonight, no matter what you find out….”

“What can I do to help?” Ginny asked.

“Keep an eye on Ron.” Hermione had been listening from across the room and now came over to join them. “I’m beginning to think that Dumbledore’s been using him to do more than just spy on Harry….talk to him, Ginny. Ask him about the other Gryffindors and see if what he says matches with what you’ve seen him do in the past.”

“Do you think he has any idea that you’re on to him, Harry?” Ginny asked.

“No. Not yet.” Harry shook his head. ‘And it’s going to stay that way, _right_?”

“Of course.” Fred grinned. “If he asks us anything, we’ll simply swear that we’re up to no good!”


	6. Untitled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I started this several years ago and, to be honest, I've completely forgotten where I was going with it. Even though it's very similar in topic to some of my other works, I really like the writing I've done here, so I thought I'd include it.

Begins immediately after events of PoA.

**

June, 199?

For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger was looking forward to the summer holidays. It wasn’t that she was glad to be leaving Hogwarts—far from it—or that she relished the idea that she had two whole months before her next class, but as she slipped through the barrier between Platform 9 and ¾ and King’s Cross station, she admitted that she needed a bit of….space. This last year had been tremendously difficult on a number of levels and she needed time away from her studies and friends and….well, from her _life_ …in order to process everything.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were standing just beside the barrier and Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, and even Harry gravitated to them as if pulled by some sort of magnet. Hermione scanned the surrounding crowd, but didn’t see her parents. She pushed her trolley to one side so as not to block the exit and prepared to wait.

“Hermione?” Neville looked at her with concern. “Aren’t your parents going to meet you?”

“They’ll be here soon.” She assured him. “It’s Wednesday, you see, and Wednesday is their day for surgery….” Her voice trailed off as she saw the blank look on Neville’s face. She was searching for the words to explain the concept of surgery to someone who had had every bruise, cut, scrape, or other injury healed with either a wand or a potion when she was rescued by the arrival of Neville’s grandmother. Though they had never been formally introduced, Hermione would have known the woman anywhere and it took an effort to keep her face straight as she examined the vulture topped hat, the large red handbag and the green dress she’s seen on Professor Snape the day Neville had ought the Boggart.

“Hello, Neville dear.” To Hermione’s surprise, Neville gave his grandmother a formal bow. “Where’s Trevor?”

“He’s in my trunk.” Neville replied. “There’s a great pet shop in Hogsmeade and they sell toad habitats so Trevor doesn’t wander off nearly so much.”

“Very good.” His grandmother nodded her approval. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Oh! Sorry….Grandmother, may I present Miss Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is my grandmother, Lady Augusta Longbottom.” Clear grey eyes caught her gaze and Hermione fought the urge to curtsey. It would have been awkward, since she was wearing jeans.

“Miss Granger.” Lady Longbottom gave her a gracious nod. “My Neville speaks quite highly of you. I understand that I have you to thank for the fact that his grades have improved this year.”

“Oh no,” Hermione protested, seeing Neville’s face redden with embarrassment. “Neville’s quite hard worker….” This was, in fact, true. Unlike Ron Weasley, Neville didn’t spend half his life thinking of clever ways to get her to do his homework for him.

“I’m sure he is.” Lady Longbottom sighed and her gaze softened slightly as she looked at her grandson, who was staring at the ground and appeared to be trying to dig a hole in which to hide with his foot. “He’s just…..well.” She took a deep breath and turned back to Hermione. “Are your parents meeting you, dear?”

“They’ll be here.” Hermione assured her. “They’re just running a little….”

“Hey Longbottom!” Behind Neville and his grandmother, Hermione caught sight of Draco Malfoy and his father along with a woman who, from her white-blonde hair and superior expression, could only be his mother. “Does your grandmother know you like to think about Professor Snape wearing her clothes?” If possible, Neville’s face got even redder. His grandmother, on the other hand, had gone rather pale and her lips were pinched together in an expression that was eerily reminiscent of Professor McGonagall when she got angry. Slowly, she turned around.

“Neville, who is this…. _person_?” Hermione noticed that she had suddenly acquired a very posh accent. She also noticed that Lucius Malfoy was glaring daggers at his son, though Draco seemed to be unaware of that fact.

“Ah…Lady Longbottom.” Lucius’ smile did not reach his eyes. “Allow me to present my son and Heir, Draco. Draco, this is Lady Augusta Longbottom.” There was a pause in which nothing happened, then Hermione saw Lucius give Draco a none-too-gentle rap on the shoulder with the head of his cane. Draco looked mutinous, but bowed.

“Lady Longbottom, I am honored to make your acquaintance.” He murmured.

“Indeed.” She looked at him as if he was something she wanted to scrape off her shoe. “Lord Malfoy, may I present my grandson and Heir, Neville. Neville, this is Sir Lucius Malfoy and his wife Narcissa.” Neville bowed without being prompted, but Hermione noticed that he did not go down as far as Draco had.

“Sir, I am pleased to know you.” His grandmother gave him an approving nod and Neville practically glowed.

“I should also like to present Miss Hermione Granger….” She began.

“We’ve met.” Lucius Malfoy said, shortly. “Perhaps your grandson has not seen fit to inform you, Augusta, but Miss Granger is Muggleborn.” He wore a smirk that said as clear as anything that he thought this would put paid to any further acquaintance between Hermione and the Longbottoms.

“I am aware of Miss Granger’s lineage.” Lady Longbottom. replied, her voice dripping ice. “I think that she is to be commended for adapting so well to our world. In fact, I have been informed that Miss Granger has earned the top place in her class for the _third_ year in a row!”

“Gran is on the Board of Governors.” Neville murmured in Hermione’s ear.

“I see.” Lucius replied. “And, if I may make so bold as to ask, what position does your

grandson hold? Draco is, I believe twenty-first in his class.” Hermione resisted the urge to smile.

“That is a very impertinent question, Sir, but since you volunteered your son’s standing, I shall tell you that my grandson is fifteenth.” Draco’s mouth fell open and Hermione nearly burst out laughing.

“That’s _impossible_.” Draco snapped. “Longbottom can’t even brew a simple Swelling Solution without Granger holding his hand.” Lucius aimed another blow with the cane at Draco’s head, but his mother pulled him to her side.

“I see.” Lucius was breathing heavily through his nose. “You must be very proud.”

“I am.” Lady Longbottom was not a tall woman, but she seemed to tower over the man in that moment. 

“Yes…well, I think we’d best be off. Come Draco, Narcissa.” Lucius Malfoy spun on his heel and stalked off, his wife and son trailing in his wake.

“I rather enjoyed that.” Augusta Longbottom said, smiling slightly.

“Fifteenth?” Neville’s eyes were round with shock. “Are you _serious_ , Gran?”

“I am.” She nodded. “The Board of Governors met today and Professor Dumbledore told me. Professor Sprout also made a point of telling me that you have a natural aptitude for Herbology and that she hopes you will continue with the subject.”

“Oh, I want to.” Neville’s face shone with eagerness and both Hermione and his grandmother smiled. “But…” his face fell almost immediately. “What about Potions? I’m sure I failed the final….”

“Ah…well. According to Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape fell ill before he could grade the exams, so your Potions grade was based on the work you did prior to the test.” Hermione had to look away for a moment lest her face give something away. She knew the truth….she’d heard Flitwick and McGonagall talking about it. Apparently, Snape had been so overwrought by the escape of Sirius Black that he’d knocked a cauldron of Mixin’s Tonic over and it had spilled onto the third year exams. Since Mixin’s was used to cauterize wounds, the resulting flames had destroyed all the tests save for those done by the Slytherins. According to McGonagall, Snape had been prepared to fail all the Gryffindors, but Dumbledore had intervened.

“Wow.” Neville looked from his grandmother to Hermione in astonishment. Augusta Longbottom, however, had turned her entire attention back to Hermione and was scrutinizing her carefully.

“You are a Muggleborn?”

“Yes.” Hermione was suddenly wary. She’d gotten the distinct impression that Lady Longbottom didn’t like Lucius Malfoy one bit. Was the older woman’s defense of her merely an act meant to provoke him?

“It’s just that you bear a striking resemblance to….What is your mother’s maiden name, dear?”

“Hooper?” Hermione was thoroughly confused now. What did her mother’s maiden name have to do with anything? It obviously meant something to Lady Longbottom, though, for she looked, if possible, even more perplexed. Hermione didn’t have much time to worry about it, for at that moment, she spotted her father. He was practically running towards her and he looked rather upset.

“Hermione….” He gasped. “Are you all right? I passed that Malfoy fellow as I came in and I thought…”

“I’m fine, Dad.” She assured him. “Dad, may I introduce my friend Neville Longbottom and his grandmother….er….” she paused, unsure as to what title to give the old woman. She had a title of some sort, obviously, but Hermione didn’t know if that was strictly a Wizarding thing or if the woman had any status in the Muggle world as well.

“Augusta.” Lady Longbottom held out her hand to be shaken in a perfectly proper Muggle fashion. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Granger.” The posh accent was gone.

“It’s good to meet you, too.” Bob Granger smiled, but he still looked a little wary. Hermione didn’t blame him. Her father’s one experience in the Wizarding World—that disastrous trip to Diagon Alley at the beginning of her second year—had convinced him that all Wizards were as bigoted as the Malfoys. “You’re Neville, eh?” The smile he gave Neville was much more genuine. “Hermione has told me a great deal about you, lad. I’m glad to know you.” Neville was blushing again, but this time, he seemed pleased.

“Likewise, sir.” He said, shaking the man’s hand.

“Well, I’m sorry to be so abrupt, but we really must be going.” Hermione’s father took hold of her cart. “I’m afraid that I’ve got several patients waiting for me…”

“Of course.” Augusta Longbottom gave him a polite smile. “We must be getting on, too.”

“Bye Neville.” Hermione waved over her shoulder as she followed her father into the crowd.

“See you in September!” she heard him call.

**

( _Later that evening_ )

“Gran?” Neville frowned. His grandmother had been sitting at the table in the library poring over musty tomes and scrolls since they’d gotten home. Now, it was nearly midnight. Neville often had difficulty sleeping the first few nights at home, so he’d come down to get a book and found her sitting where he’d left her after dinner.

“Neville?” Startled, she looked up. “Is everything all right?”

“Can’t sleep.” He said, taking the seat across from her. “What are you doing?” She studied him for a moment and Neville got the distinct sense that, perhaps for the first time, she was seeing _him_ and not merely a poor copy of his father. Abruptly, she sat up straight and gave a decisive nod of her head.

“Tell me, what do you know about your friend Miss Granger.” Neville gaped at her a moment, before his brain started working.

“Well….ah….she’s Muggleborn, but you know that already. She’s brilliant, but you know that, too….” He paused and took a deep breath. “What, exactly, do you want to know, Gran?”

“Who are her allies? Who is she friends with….besides you, of course.”

“Well, she’s best friends with Harry Potter.” His Gran nodded and gestured for him to continue. “She’s also close to Ginny Weasley and I think the twins look at her like another sister.”

“What about Ronald Weasley? I was given to understand that he is friends with Harry Potter as well.”

“Before this year, I would have said Ron and Hermione were close.” Neville frowned and bit his lip thoughtfully. “But…well, Ron was pretty awful to her and didn't talk to her for…well…. _months_. They made up just after final exams, but I don’t think they’re as close as they were before.” His Gran nodded.

“I see. What about the other girls in your year?”

“Lavender and Parvati?” Neville shrugged. “They get along all right, I suppose…Hermione spends most of her time this year with Harry or in the library.”

“And she and Mr. Potter are close, you say?”

“Oh yeah.” Neville nodded emphatically and suppressed the urge to ask what this was all about. He knew, from experience, that his grandmother would only tell him when she was good and ready.

“Do you think their relationship is more than merely friendship?”

“What?” Neville stared at her in shock. His Gran was _not_ the sort to go in for gossip, particularly not when it concerned the personal lives of teenagers she barely knew. Still she seemed to expect an answer from him. Neville closed his eyes and thought back to all the times he’d seen Harry and Hermione together. “No.” He said, finally. “They spend loads of time together, but they don’t seem to like each other that way. They act like….” He searched for an apt comparison and, to his surprise, found one. “ They act like Bertie and Winnifred do.” Bertie and Winnifred were distant cousins on his father’s side. They were siblings, but they were also best friends. Neville had always rather envied them their closeness and the way they looked at each other and talked to one another was exactly the way that Harry and Hermione looked and talked.

“Good. And the other students? What do they think about her?”

“The Slytherins don’t like her.” Neville began. “But that’s mostly because she gets better marks than they do and she hangs around with Harry and the Weasleys. Other than that, I think that the older students don’t really know she exists, while the younger ones….” He shrugged. “Well, Hermione’s really clever and all, but she’s not all that good with _people_ , if you know what I mean.

“I do.” Neville watched his Grandmother as she processed what he’d told her. She was idly stroking the parchment of the scroll on the table in front of her. Glancing at it, he saw it was full of genealogical charts, though the print was far too small for him to read upside-down. He lifted his eyes from the scroll to find that his grandmother was gazing at him. There was an expression of dawning realization on her face.

“I’m sorry.” She said, softly.

“What?” Neville could only stare at her in shock. His grandmother never apologize to _anyone_ , least of all him. She sighed.

“After the Board of Governors meeting this morning, Minerva McGonagall pulled me aside and had…words…with me. She made it clear that it was high time I started seeing you for the man you are becoming rather than for the man I wanted you to be. In short, she reminded me—quite forcefully—that you are not your father.”

“I….ah….” Neville simply stared at her. He had absolutely no idea how to respond to his.

“She also chastised me for not attending to your memory problems. She’s quite right, of course….”

“My….memory problems.” Neville had always had difficulty remembering things, but he had never realized that it was something that could be fixed. “They….they can be fixed?”

“Possibly.” His grandmother looked at her hands and Neville was astonished to realize that she was nervous. “You see, Neville….Professor McGonagall feels—and Madam Promfrey agrees—that your poor memory may have been caused by an incorrectly performed Memory Charm.”

“A Memory Charm?” Neville was horrified. “Someone erased my memory?”

“Your Uncle Algie did it a few months after your parents were….were hurt. You see, you were there that night, Neville. When the Death Eaters arrived, your parents tried to hide you, but….somehow you managed to escape the wards they put over you and you wandered into the room where the Death Eaters were….” She took a deep, ragged breath. “where they were _torturing_ your parents. One of those _monsters_ decided that the best way to get what they wanted out of your mother and father was to torture _you_. Fortunately, the aurors arrived before they did any real damage, but I do know that you took at least one Cruciatus curse. You had nightmares every night for two months after that. I took you to St. Mungo’s, but they refused to modify your memory. You were so young, you see…they were afraid that it might do more harm than good. You….you were in a bad way, Neville. I couldn’t stand seeing you so frightened and….and seeing you like that….well, it was a constant reminder of what happened to your parents. So, I asked your Uncle Algie to perform the Charm. It appears that the Healers were right…” She seemed to be unable to look at him. “In the morning, I will call a Healer at St. Mungo’s and see what can be done to rectify the situation.”

Neville simply stared at her for a long moment. “Why are you telling me all this?” he finally asked.

“Because of what happened today at the train station.” She finally met his eyes. “Look at this.” She passed the book she had been reding to him and Neville scanned it, unsure of what he was looking for. The book was on Wizarding genealogy and the pages were full of family trees. Neville had seen the book before—his grandmother had shown him the Longbottom family tree on more than one occasion, usually accompanying the presentation with a lecture about how he needed to live up to his family’s legacy. Now, however, she’d turned to a page with so many branches and names that the diagram looked far more like a thicket than a tree. At the top….Neville gasped. 

“Gran, where did you get this?”

“It has been in our family for hundreds of years. Longbottms have a special relationship to the Hogwarts founders. You and I are descended from a cadet branch of the Hufflepuff line, after all.”

“We are?” Neville’s eyes had gone very wide. 

“We are.” She nodded. “When the main branch of the line died out, several artifacts entailed to the Hufflepuff family came into the possession of your seven times great grandfather, Thelonius Longbottom. Among those were genealogy scrolls for the descendants of the four Founders. They are enchanted stay up-to-date.” Neville turned his attention back to the scroll. At the top, written in large, curly letters, were the words “Rowena Ravenclaw.” She had, according to the scroll, married twice. The first marriage, to Padraic Ravenclaw, had produced seven children. The second marriage, to Salazar Slytherin, had produced one child. Feeling an odd sense of excitement mingled with foreboding, Neville skimmed the parchment until he reached the bottom.

As far as he could tell, only two of Rowena and Padraic’s children still had living descendants and one of those was…..”Hermione!” he breathed.

“Indeed.” Augusta Longbottom nodded. “Her great-great grandfather Junius Hooper was a wizard. He only had one child, a boy he called Marcus, who was a squib. Marcus Hooper chose to make his life in the Muggle world, married a Muggle woman and apparently, never informed his wife or their children of their magical heritage.”

“So…she’s not really Muggleborn at all, is she?” Neville looked up to see his Gran gazing at him, her expression unreadable.

“No, dear. She’s not. In fact, I suspect that if you were to look high enough on the family trees of any ‘Muggle-born’ witch or wizard, you’d find that they, too, came from Wizarding stock. Now, did you see the _other_ name of interest on the scroll?” Neville looked down again. It took him a moment to find what she was talking about and when he did, he gasped. The last living descendants of Rowena’s child with Salazar Slytherin were Albus and Abeforth Dumbledore. He stared at the name for a full minute before looking up to meet his grandmother.

“Yes, dear. It’s true.” She pulled a book off the top of the pile on the table and riffled through its pages quickly. When she’d found what she was looking for, she handed it to him. “Now read this.” Placing his thumb between the pages to mark his place, Neville glanced at the book’s cover: _Burke’s Magical Peerage: A Detailed Account of all Noble Wizarding Families both Extant and Extinct Within the Confines of the British Isles._ He opened the book again and read:

_In 1286, Delvinius Hooper was named Lord of the Magical Realm, owing to his outstanding service during the war against the Dark Wizard Halfred and to his contributions to the wisdom and knowledge of the Wizarding World—including (but not limited to) his invention of the Polyjuice Potion and discovery of the usefulness of Phoenix Feathers as a wand core. The title—and all attendant duties, salaries, and honors—are to be maintained by his magical descendants (male and female) as long as his blood flows within their veins._

Neville chewed his lip. “So Hermione’s….she’s noble? Like us?”

“Exactly like us.” His grandmother nodded. Neville looked back at the scroll. “Does Professor Dumbledore know?”

“No.” Neville was startled by the fury in her voice. “And he must not be told. Do you understand me, Neville?”

“I….yes, Gran. I understand. But why not?”

“Albus Dumbledore has been acting as the Regent of the Hooper estate for _years_. Between those families that swore fealty to the Hoopers and those that made alliances with them in the past, the Hoopers control a significant voting bloc in the Wizengamot and they are entitled to a place among the International Confederation of Wizards. Albus has been using these to forward his own agenda for _years_.”

“But…” Neville’s brow furrowed in thought. “Professor Dumbledore is Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, isn’t he? Doesn’t that mean he can’t vote?”

“Very good, Neville! Very, _very_ good!” His grandmother looked both surprised and pleased. “Minerva was right—I haven’t given you nearly enough credit…..You are perfectly correct. As Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore does not have a vote in the Wizengamot, nor is he permitted to act as a Regent or Proxy for anyone who _does_ have a vote. However, I happen to know that he has been using his stewardship of the Hooper title and his guardianship of Harry Potter….”

“Wait!” Neville held up a hand to stop the flow of words. “What has Harry got to do with anything?”

“The Potters are minor nobles…on par with the Malfoys.” His Gran sighed. “They attained their rank fairly recently...at the beginning of the nineteenth century, I believe…and they have no strong ties with any of the greater houses. Therefore, they vote independently. Dumbledore claimed guardianship of Harry as soon as Sirius Black was thrown into Azkaban. He sent Harry off to live with Muggles while he set about using the family name and fortune to further his own aims.”

“Harry and Hermione….” Neville took a deep breath. “They don’t know about any of this, Gran.”

“I know.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, wearily. “I believe that Dumbledore is deliberately keeping Harry in the dark, but I don’t think he’s made the connection about Hermione. Not yet, anyway. You see, it has never occurred to the man that Muggleborns could possibly be the distant descendants of witches and wizards, let alone that any of them could be related to him through his ever-so-great grandmother Rowena Ravenclaw. As far as he knows, the Hooper line is dead, magically speaking. So, he was within his rights as the nearest magical relative, to claim stewardship. However, when he became Chief Warlock, he was obligated to disclose that fact to the Wizengamot and make other arrangements. He did not. And he certainly knew what he was doing when he took guardianship of the Potter estate.”

Neville thought about this for a few minutes. “Why haven’t you told anyone?” He asked, quietly. His grandmother was quite outspoken about corruption in the current Ministry for Magic and he had a hard time believing she would tolerate such obvious abuse of power in silence.

“Albus Dumbledore is a very powerful man, both magically and politically.” She replied, quietly. “He has proven, over and over again, that he is willing to bend, twist, or simply ignore any law that stands between him and his ambition. He is ruthless against his enemies and he is adored….revered, almost…by most of the witches and wizards in Britain. Were I to denounce him now….” She made a chopping gesture with her hand. “He would destroy me and, I suspect, you as well since you are my Heir. With you out of the way, the Longbottom title would pass to your Aunt Lilith and she is, Gods help me, a weak-minded fool who will do anything Dumbledore says.”

“What do we do?” Neville asked, his voice small.

“We wait. And we prepare. And we plan.” His grandmother gave him a grim smile. “Starting tomorrow, you will be my Heir in fact as well as in name. We are going to go to St. Mungo’s and see what we can do about your memory. Then, we are going to Diagon Alley to get you a wand of your own. I regret forcing you to use your father’s wand…he did great things with that wand, but I forgot that the wand is merely a tool. It is the wizard who is great, not the wand. This summer, you and I will begin going over the estates, duties, and privileges of the Lords Longbottom. It’s high time you began to learn about your inheritance. And Miss Granger must be informed of _her_ inheritance, of course.”

“Of course.” Neville was glad he was sitting down as his legs felt like they had turned to water. He had a feeling that his life was about to become a whole lot more interesting. He was fairly certain that this was not, on the whole, a good thing.

**

( _Four days later)_

Dan and Emma Granger only gave their daughter three rules during her school holidays. 1) Don’t burn the house down. 2) No overseas phone calls without permission and 3) No schoolwork during the first week of the summer holiday. The first rule had been established when she was nine and had been doing a science experiment in the kitchen. While the fire had been easily doused, Hermione’s parents had felt that some sort of rule was needed to ensure that no similar accidents occurred in the future. The second rule had been established during the summer between her first and second years at Hogwarts, when Hermione had made several calls to the United States in an effort to get more information about a particular subject she was researching for her History of Magic essay. She hadn’t bothered to mention the calls to her parents, who had gotten a rather nasty shock when they’d received their next telephone bill. The third rule had been established after last summer when a power outage in their building had forced Dan and Emma to close up shop early on the second day of Hermione’s holiday. They’d come home to find their daughter surrounded by books and complaining bitterly that the wand restriction placed on underage witches and wizards made it impossible for her to practice turning teacups into toadstools.

The minute Hermione had walked into the house, her father had confiscated her trunk with all her schoolbooks and had hidden it somewhere in her parents’ room. Hermione had spent the past four days sleeping, taking walks in the nearby park, and thinking hard. She’d learned a lot in the past year and, though she hated to admit it, the most important things she’d learned hadn’t come from a book or a teacher. Now, sitting at her desk, she surveyed the sheets of paper in front of her and frowned. It was time to stop wool-gathering and make some concrete plans and decisions.

The first sheet of paper was labeled SCHOOL. On it was listed all the courses she was taking, followed by a list of all the professors who taught them. On her list of courses, she had already drawn a hard line through Divination. Not only was she not planning on taking it next year, she wasn’t planning on studying it again, ever! She wasn’t quite sure she could ever forgive Trelawney for ruining her interest in a subject—even one as far-fetched and seemingly useless as Divination—but that wasn’t really important now. 

Reluctantly, she picked up a pen and drew a line through Muggle Studies. While she was still eager to learn about the many ways in which, despite the International Statute of Secrecy, the magical and Muggle worlds interacted and influenced one another, she had come to the conclusion that she wasn’t going to get what she wanted from Hogwarts. The Muggle Studies teacher, Professor Burbage, was a nice enough woman and was, technically Muggle-born, but the woman was nearly a hundred years old and had been adopted by a magical family when she was eight. So, for all intents and purposes, she had about as much practical knowledge of the modern Muggle World as Arthur Weasley did. So, dropping her course wasn’t really a hardship for Hermione.

Carefully, Hermione studied the remaining twelve courses and, after some thought, placed a little “x” next to Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, and Art. She would continue with those courses and take her OWLs in them, but she saw no reason to pursue NEWTs in them, as they wouldn’t help her in her future career. That left Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, History of Magic, and International Studies. She sat back and studied her list, nibbling on her pen. With NEWTs in those subjects, her career options were nearly limitless. It was true, without a NEWT in Herbology, she would not be able to obtain a Mastery in Potions or rise to the highest ranks of the Healing profession, but as she had no desire to do either, she hardly thought this a loss.

Turning her attention to the list of teachers, she reluctantly put an “x” next to Hagrid’s name as well as marking both Professor Snape and Professor Binns in a similar manner. Snape hated her, Binns was useless for anything other than dry facts and figures and, though she loved Hagrid dearly and knew he was an expert in his field, Hermione recognized that he was not a good teacher. She suspected that, with training and experience, he had to potential to be brilliant at it, but that would take a while. Once again, she wondered how Dumbledore could have been so foolish as to thrust Hagrid into that situation so completely unprepared. He’d told her, during one of the visits she’d made when Ron and Harry weresn’t speaking to her, that he’d only had two weeks’ notice before the beginning of the term. Hermione shook her head. She had to focus. 

She studied the remainder of her list and jotted down a few notes next to each of the remaining names—when term started again, she intended to request meetings with all the teachers remaining on their list to discuss career options, apprenticeships and the requirements for Masteries in their subjects. One of her chief complaints about Hogwarts was that students were given almost no guidance with regards to their course selection or possible future careers. She suspected that this was due, in large part, to the fact that British Wizarding society seemed to be modeled on Muggle Victorian society. Everyone knew everyone and apprenticeships and jobs were gotten through connections rather than through what Hermione considered to be “traditional” Muggle hiring practices of application and interview. There was nothing wrong with that system, per se, but the system was very hard for a Muggleborn—someone who had no existing family connections within the Wizarding world—to crack.

_Tap, tap, tap_. Startled, Hermione looked up and found herself staring at an owl, who was sitting on the branch of a tree outside her window. Though she didn’t recognize this particular owl, she did recognize the crest with the golden, double-handled cup that was tied to its chest. The owl belonged to Neville or, more likely, his grandmother. Hermione stood quickly and opened the window. The owl dropped not one, but three envelopes in her hand, then took off as silently as it had come. Sinking back into her chair, Hermione stared at the envelopes. All three were of the same creamy white parchment and all three bore the same red wax seals. Two were addressed to her and one was addressed to her parents. Hermione recognized Neville’s neat, loopy handwriting on one of the letters for her, so she opened it first.

_Dear Hermione:_

_How are you? I hope you’re enjoying your holiday. Have you finished your homework yet? I haven’t even started mine—I spent two days in St. Mungo’s (I’ll explain later) and then my Gran and I spent a day doing some shopping on Diagon Alley. I got a new wand!_

_My Gran has decided to spend a month at our house in Greece this summer and she’s taking me with her. I mentioned that you were really interested in learning about the ancient Greek witches and wizards and she suggested that I invite you to come with us. Our house is located on the island of Santorini and Gran says she can make arrangements for a guide to take us to all the magical and Muggle sites of interest in the area. I know she’s writing a letter to you and she’ll probably write one to your parents as well. We’ll be leaving on July 21 st and we’ll be back about a week before term begins, so we’ll have plenty of time to shop for next year’s school supplies. Let me know what you think!_

_Your friend,_

_Neville_

By the time she was finished reading, Hermione was bouncing up and down on her chair with excitement. Quickly, she snatched up the second letter addressed to her and tore it open.

_Dear Miss Granger –_

_It was a great pleasure meeting you the other day and I want to thank you, again, for all the assistance and encouragement you’ve given my grandson over the past three years. Neville tells me that you are very interested in magical history and that you have an especial fondness for the ancient Greeks. Our family has a house on the island of Santorini and Neville and I will be spending three weeks there this summer. Would you are to join us? As Neville has no doubt told you, we will be leaving England on the 21 st of July and will return about a week before the beginning of the fall term. I have taken the liberty of writing to your parents to introduce myself and to assure them of your safety and of the propriety of the situation. Should you decide to join us, please send an owl on or before July 1, as we will need to make arrangements for your luggage. I do hope you will come, dear—I am most anxious to get to know you better and I know Neville will enjoy himself a great deal more with someone his own age around the place. _

_Yours sincerely,_

_Augusta Longbottom_

It was a good thing that the Granger’s house sat in the middle of a fairly large proprety as Hermione’s squeals of joy might very well have upset the neighbors.

**

Gringott’s was not crowded when Hermione stepped through the doors and into the marble hall and it took her only a few minutes to exchange some pound notes for Greek currency—both Magical and Muggle. Once that was done, she stationed herself near the entrance to wait for Neville and his grandmother. They had arranged to meet at Gringotts at two o’clock on the 21st, but it was only one-thirty, so Hermione knew she had time to read the letters that she had received that morning from Ron, Harry and Ginny. Opening her satchel, she pulled them out, then leaned against the wall and opened the first envelope, which was addressed in Harry’s hand.

_Dear Hermione –_

_Thanks so much for the candy you sent me! Dudley’s diet isn’t going well – yesterday, Aunt Petunia found out that he’s been hoarding chocolate in his room. He won’t tell her where he got it, but I have my suspicions. I’m just glad she’s too scared to come into my room – I’ve got the candy you sent, plus some food Mrs. Weasley sent hidden under a floorboard under my bed, but it wouldn’t be hard for someone who was looking to notice it. Plus, Hagrid sent a tin of his Treacle fudge that’s so big it won’t fit under the floorboard, so I had to put it on the floor of my closet._

_I’ve had a couple of letters from Snuffles. He won’t tell me where he is, of course, but he says that he and Buckbeak are doing well, so that something – right? I wish I could get the Daily Prophet – I’d really like to know what’s going on. But Uncle Vernon would throw a fit if an owl carrying a newspaper showed up here every day._

_Your trip to Greece sounds excellent! You mentioned you were thinking of getting a Wizarding camera like Colin’s. Did you? Ron’s invited me to go with him and his family to the Quidditch World Cup. They’re picking me up on Friday. It’s too bad you won’t be able to come with us, but I know you’ll have a great time. Tell Neville I said “Hi!”_

_Love,_

_Harry_

Smiling, Hermione tucked Harry’s letter away and opened the letter from Ginny.

_Dear Hermione –_

_Oh, you trip to Greece sounds absolutely lovely! We’re going to the Quidditch World Cup (but you already know that, of course) and, while I’m sure it will be loads of fun, but I can certainly see how you would prefer Greece. Ron is being a prat about it, naturally, Fred, George, and I have taken it upon ourselves t make him see the errors of his ways. By the time we board the Hogwarts Express, he should be decent enough to share a compartment with._

_Harry is coming to the World Cup with us. He arrives on Friday. I’m going to do my best not to be a complete wreck around him this year, honest! That reminds me – I got a letter from Colin Creevey last week. He asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him when we get back to school, but….get this! He suggested we invite Harry to come along with us! I almost told him that if he wants to date Harry so badly, he should simply ask him and leave me out of it, but I restrained myself and simply told him that Mum and Dad won’t let me date until my fifth year. If he’s still after Harry’s hide then, I’ll have a thing or two to say to him, but that’s two years away, so I’m not going to worry about it now. Oh – you’re the only one who knows about this besides Mum. Please don’t tell Harry or Ron – Harry would be dreadfully embarrassed, I know, and I’m sure Ron would behave like a prat which would only make things worse._

_Tell Neville I said “hi!” Are you two a couple now? Ron insists you must be as that is the only reason he can think of that you’d rather go to Greece than to the Quidditch World Cup with us. Don’t get me wrong – I like Neville and if you two are a couple, I’ll be very happy for you, but I never had the impression that you liked him that way. Have you been holding out on me, Granger???_

_Anyway, have a wonderful time and I’ll see you on the train!_

_Lots of love,_

_Ginny_

As she stuffed Ginny’s letter back in the envelope, Hermione sighed. She gazed at the final envelope, which was covered by Ron’s nearly illegible scrawl and then put it back into her bag, unopened. She’d have to read it some time, she knew, but she was excited about the trip and didn't want him to spoil it for her. Once again, she found herself wondering why she was friends with Ronald Weasley.

That was a subject that had occupied her mind a great deal this summer and she was no closer to an answer now than she had been the day she stepped off the train. She was well aware that some of the blame for their fights over the past year fell on her shoulders—while she stood by her decision to inform Professor McGonagall about the mysterious Firebolt, she knew good and well that she’d been unreasonably stubborn in the matter of Scabbers’ supposed death at the hands of Crookshanks. It ddin’t really matter that Scabbers had not, in fact, died nor did it matter that Crookshanks had been right about him all along. She could—and should—have had more sympathy towards Ron in that situation. That didn’t, however, excuse his behavior entirely.

From Christmas until the very end of term, Ron had told anyone who would listen that he wasn’t speaking to her. Unfortunately, while it was true that he hadn’t spoken directly _to_ her, he had kept up a running stream of mean and nasty comments _about_ her. In Harry’s presence, he had confined himself to the standard twaddle about how she was mental for wanting to study all the time and how she was heartless and cruel for not mourning the death of his pet rat, but when Harry wasn’t around…. Hermione closed her eyes as a wave of fresh hurt and anger swept over her. Even though Harry hadn’t spoken to her after the incident with the Firebolt, he had never said an unkind word about her to anyone else and he _had_ continued speaking with her after Scabbers disappeared, even if he’d spent half his time trying to convince her to apologize.

As Hermione opened her eyes and scanned the hall again, she thought about the unopened letter in her bag. For the life of her, she could not understand why Ron was upset that she wasn’t going to the Quidditch World Cup. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known she was going to Greece – she’d written letters to all her friends the day her parents had agreed to the trip—and he knew perfectly well that she had very little interest in Quidditch. It was as if….as if….

“Hermione!” Her train of thought was interrupted by Neville, who had entered the bank just behind his grandmother. Smiling, she shoved all thoughts of Ronald Weasley to the back of her brain and walked over to join them.

“Hello, dear. Have you been waiting long?” Augusta Longbottom gave her a warm smile.

“Not really.” Hermione shrugged. “My Dad dropped me off a bit early as I needed to get some money changed.”

“Good.” Lady Longbottom nodded. “I’ll just let the goblins know we’re here and then we can be on our way.”

“How, exactly, are we getting there?” Hermione asked. One thing she’d found curious about her International Studies class was that there was very little information about how magical people traveled from country to country. In fact, she’d often wondered how wizards traveled over long distances in their _own_ countries. Broomsticks were not very practical – they were far too susceptible to wind and they couldn’t reach a particularly high altitude. A witch or wizard on a broomstick could easily be seen by Muggles (as witnessed by countless Muggle folktales). She and Neville were underage, so Apparition was out of the question and even if they could Apparate, most witches and wizards could only go about five miles at a time. That was certainly not advisable when one had to cross an ocean. There was the Floo network, but as far as she could tell, that was limited to the British Isles, as was the Knight Bus. There were always Portkeys, but she didn’t know how far one could travel using one and she’d heard that they weren’t the most comfortable way to travel.

“There’s a GoneGate in every branch of Gringotts.” Neville replied. Seeing her look of incomprehension, he blushed. “Sorry, Hermione. I keep forgetting that you didn’t grow up with this stuff. A GoneGate is a…a portal of sorts. It’s Goblin magic, so no one really knows how it works, but they have one in each branch of the bank. You step through the Gate in England and you come out of the Gate at the Gringotts bank that’s closest to your destination. We’ll be Gating to Athens and taking a Portkey from there to Santorini.”

“Is Gringotts the only place that has GoneGates?” Hermione listened raptly as they watched Neville’s Gran speak to one of the goblins behind the desk.

“No…they’ve got one at the Ministry, but that’s strictly for Ministry employees. As a member of the Wizengamot, Gran would technically be allowed to use it, but she prefers the one here. A few of the oldest houses have private Gates, but those are really heavily regulated.” Neville’s grandmother returned at this point, accompanied by a goblin.

“This way, please.” The goblin led them to one of the many doors that lined the hall and Hermione stared about her in wonder. Harry had told her about the mine carts that wizards used to get to their vaults and she had assumed they would use something similar to get to the GoneGate. However, this did not appear to be the case as the goblin ushered them into a room that bore a striking resemblance to the waiting room at her parents’ dental office. The room was small and the walls were lined with chairs. There was a table with magazines like _Witch Weekly_ , _Transfiguration Today_ , and _The Muggle Mind_. There were also several old copies of _The Daily Prophet_ and Hermione had to look away before she made

NOBLE HERMIONE

By firebird9030

Begins immediately after events of PoA.

**

June, 199?

For the first time in her life, Hermione Granger was looking forward to the summer holidays. It wasn’t that she was glad to be leaving Hogwarts—far from it—or that she relished the idea that she had two whole months before her next class, but as she slipped through the barrier between Platform 9 and ¾ and King’s Cross station, she admitted that she needed a bit of….space. This last year had been tremendously difficult on a number of levels and she needed time away from her studies and friends and….well, from her _life_ …in order to process everything.

Mr. and Mrs. Weasley were standing just beside the barrier and Fred, George, Ron, Ginny, and even Harry gravitated to them as if pulled by some sort of magnet. Hermione scanned the surrounding crowd, but didn’t see her parents. She pushed her trolley to one side so as not to block the exit and prepared to wait.

“Hermione?” Neville looked at her with concern. “Aren’t your parents going to meet you?”

“They’ll be here soon.” She assured him. “It’s Wednesday, you see, and Wednesday is their day for surgery….” Her voice trailed off as she saw the blank look on Neville’s face. She was searching for the words to explain the concept of surgery to someone who had had every bruise, cut, scrape, or other injury healed with either a wand or a potion when she was rescued by the arrival of Neville’s grandmother. Though they had never been formally introduced, Hermione would have known the woman anywhere and it took an effort to keep her face straight as she examined the vulture topped hat, the large red handbag and the green dress she’s seen on Professor Snape the day Neville had ought the Boggart.

“Hello, Neville dear.” To Hermione’s surprise, Neville gave his grandmother a formal bow. “Where’s Trevor?”

“He’s in my trunk.” Neville replied. “There’s a great pet shop in Hogsmeade and they sell toad habitats so Trevor doesn’t wander off nearly so much.”

“Very good.” His grandmother nodded her approval. “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

“Oh! Sorry….Grandmother, may I present Miss Hermione Granger. Hermione, this is my grandmother, Lady Augusta Longbottom.” Clear grey eyes caught her gaze and Hermione fought the urge to curtsey. It would have been awkward, since she was wearing jeans.

“Miss Granger.” Lady Longbottom gave her a gracious nod. “My Neville speaks quite highly of you. I understand that I have you to thank for the fact that his grades have improved this year.”

“Oh no,” Hermione protested, seeing Neville’s face redden with embarrassment. “Neville’s quite hard worker….” This was, in fact, true. Unlike Ron Weasley, Neville didn’t spend half his life thinking of clever ways to get her to do his homework for him.

“I’m sure he is.” Lady Longbottom sighed and her gaze softened slightly as she looked at her grandson, who was staring at the ground and appeared to be trying to dig a hole in which to hide with his foot. “He’s just…..well.” She took a deep breath and turned back to Hermione. “Are your parents meeting you, dear?”

“They’ll be here.” Hermione assured her. “They’re just running a little….”

“Hey Longbottom!” Behind Neville and his grandmother, Hermione caught sight of Draco Malfoy and his father along with a woman who, from her white-blonde hair and superior expression, could only be his mother. “Does your grandmother know you like to think about Professor Snape wearing her clothes?” If possible, Neville’s face got even redder. His grandmother, on the other hand, had gone rather pale and her lips were pinched together in an expression that was eerily reminiscent of Professor McGonagall when she got angry. Slowly, she turned around.

“Neville, who is this…. _person_?” Hermione noticed that she had suddenly acquired a very posh accent. She also noticed that Lucius Malfoy was glaring daggers at his son, though Draco seemed to be unaware of that fact.

“Ah…Lady Longbottom.” Lucius’ smile did not reach his eyes. “Allow me to present my son and Heir, Draco. Draco, this is Lady Augusta Longbottom.” There was a pause in which nothing happened, then Hermione saw Lucius give Draco a none-too-gentle rap on the shoulder with the head of his cane. Draco looked mutinous, but bowed.

“Lady Longbottom, I am honored to make your acquaintance.” He murmured.

“Indeed.” She looked at him as if he was something she wanted to scrape off her shoe. “Lord Malfoy, may I present my grandson and Heir, Neville. Neville, this is Sir Lucius Malfoy and his wife Narcissa.” Neville bowed without being prompted, but Hermione noticed that he did not go down as far as Draco had.

“Sir, I am pleased to know you.” His grandmother gave him an approving nod and Neville practically glowed.

“I should also like to present Miss Hermione Granger….” She began.

“We’ve met.” Lucius Malfoy said, shortly. “Perhaps your grandson has not seen fit to inform you, Augusta, but Miss Granger is Muggleborn.” He wore a smirk that said as clear as anything that he thought this would put paid to any further acquaintance between Hermione and the Longbottoms.

“I am aware of Miss Granger’s lineage.” Lady Longbottom. replied, her voice dripping ice. “I think that she is to be commended for adapting so well to our world. In fact, I have been informed that Miss Granger has earned the top place in her class for the _third_ year in a row!”

“Gran is on the Board of Governors.” Neville murmured in Hermione’s ear.

“I see.” Lucius replied. “And, if I may make so bold as to ask, what position does your

grandson hold? Draco is, I believe twenty-first in his class.” Hermione resisted the urge to smile.

“That is a very impertinent question, Sir, but since you volunteered your son’s standing, I shall tell you that my grandson is fifteenth.” Draco’s mouth fell open and Hermione nearly burst out laughing.

“That’s _impossible_.” Draco snapped. “Longbottom can’t even brew a simple Swelling Solution without Granger holding his hand.” Lucius aimed another blow with the cane at Draco’s head, but his mother pulled him to her side.

“I see.” Lucius was breathing heavily through his nose. “You must be very proud.”

“I am.” Lady Longbottom was not a tall woman, but she seemed to tower over the man in that moment. 

“Yes…well, I think we’d best be off. Come Draco, Narcissa.” Lucius Malfoy spun on his heel and stalked off, his wife and son trailing in his wake.

“I rather enjoyed that.” Augusta Longbottom said, smiling slightly.

“Fifteenth?” Neville’s eyes were round with shock. “Are you _serious_ , Gran?”

“I am.” She nodded. “The Board of Governors met today and Professor Dumbledore told me. Professor Sprout also made a point of telling me that you have a natural aptitude for Herbology and that she hopes you will continue with the subject.”

“Oh, I want to.” Neville’s face shone with eagerness and both Hermione and his grandmother smiled. “But…” his face fell almost immediately. “What about Potions? I’m sure I failed the final….”

“Ah…well. According to Professor Dumbledore, Professor Snape fell ill before he could grade the exams, so your Potions grade was based on the work you did prior to the test.” Hermione had to look away for a moment lest her face give something away. She knew the truth….she’d heard Flitwick and McGonagall talking about it. Apparently, Snape had been so overwrought by the escape of Sirius Black that he’d knocked a cauldron of Mixin’s Tonic over and it had spilled onto the third year exams. Since Mixin’s was used to cauterize wounds, the resulting flames had destroyed all the tests save for those done by the Slytherins. According to McGonagall, Snape had been prepared to fail all the Gryffindors, but Dumbledore had intervened.

“Wow.” Neville looked from his grandmother to Hermione in astonishment. Augusta Longbottom, however, had turned her entire attention back to Hermione and was scrutinizing her carefully.

“You are a Muggleborn?”

“Yes.” Hermione was suddenly wary. She’d gotten the distinct impression that Lady Longbottom didn’t like Lucius Malfoy one bit. Was the older woman’s defense of her merely an act meant to provoke him?

“It’s just that you bear a striking resemblance to….What is your mother’s maiden name, dear?”

“Hooper?” Hermione was thoroughly confused now. What did her mother’s maiden name have to do with anything? It obviously meant something to Lady Longbottom, though, for she looked, if possible, even more perplexed. Hermione didn’t have much time to worry about it, for at that moment, she spotted her father. He was practically running towards her and he looked rather upset.

“Hermione….” He gasped. “Are you all right? I passed that Malfoy fellow as I came in and I thought…”

“I’m fine, Dad.” She assured him. “Dad, may I introduce my friend Neville Longbottom and his grandmother….er….” she paused, unsure as to what title to give the old woman. She had a title of some sort, obviously, but Hermione didn’t know if that was strictly a Wizarding thing or if the woman had any status in the Muggle world as well.

“Augusta.” Lady Longbottom held out her hand to be shaken in a perfectly proper Muggle fashion. “It’s a pleasure to meet you Mr. Granger.” The posh accent was gone.

“It’s good to meet you, too.” Bob Granger smiled, but he still looked a little wary. Hermione didn’t blame him. Her father’s one experience in the Wizarding World—that disastrous trip to Diagon Alley at the beginning of her second year—had convinced him that all Wizards were as bigoted as the Malfoys. “You’re Neville, eh?” The smile he gave Neville was much more genuine. “Hermione has told me a great deal about you, lad. I’m glad to know you.” Neville was blushing again, but this time, he seemed pleased.

“Likewise, sir.” He said, shaking the man’s hand.

“Well, I’m sorry to be so abrupt, but we really must be going.” Hermione’s father took hold of her cart. “I’m afraid that I’ve got several patients waiting for me…”

“Of course.” Augusta Longbottom gave him a polite smile. “We must be getting on, too.”

“Bye Neville.” Hermione waved over her shoulder as she followed her father into the crowd.

“See you in September!” she heard him call.

**

( _Later that evening_ )

“Gran?” Neville frowned. His grandmother had been sitting at the table in the library poring over musty tomes and scrolls since they’d gotten home. Now, it was nearly midnight. Neville often had difficulty sleeping the first few nights at home, so he’d come down to get a book and found her sitting where he’d left her after dinner.

“Neville?” Startled, she looked up. “Is everything all right?”

“Can’t sleep.” He said, taking the seat across from her. “What are you doing?” She studied him for a moment and Neville got the distinct sense that, perhaps for the first time, she was seeing _him_ and not merely a poor copy of his father. Abruptly, she sat up straight and gave a decisive nod of her head.

“Tell me, what do you know about your friend Miss Granger.” Neville gaped at her a moment, before his brain started working.

“Well….ah….she’s Muggleborn, but you know that already. She’s brilliant, but you know that, too….” He paused and took a deep breath. “What, exactly, do you want to know, Gran?”

“Who are her allies? Who is she friends with….besides you, of course.”

“Well, she’s best friends with Harry Potter.” His Gran nodded and gestured for him to continue. “She’s also close to Ginny Weasley and I think the twins look at her like another sister.”

“What about Ronald Weasley? I was given to understand that he is friends with Harry Potter as well.”

“Before this year, I would have said Ron and Hermione were close.” Neville frowned and bit his lip thoughtfully. “But…well, Ron was pretty awful to her and didn't talk to her for…well…. _months_. They made up just after final exams, but I don’t think they’re as close as they were before.” His Gran nodded.

“I see. What about the other girls in your year?”

“Lavender and Parvati?” Neville shrugged. “They get along all right, I suppose…Hermione spends most of her time this year with Harry or in the library.”

“And she and Mr. Potter are close, you say?”

“Oh yeah.” Neville nodded emphatically and suppressed the urge to ask what this was all about. He knew, from experience, that his grandmother would only tell him when she was good and ready.

“Do you think their relationship is more than merely friendship?”

“What?” Neville stared at her in shock. His Gran was _not_ the sort to go in for gossip, particularly not when it concerned the personal lives of teenagers she barely knew. Still she seemed to expect an answer from him. Neville closed his eyes and thought back to all the times he’d seen Harry and Hermione together. “No.” He said, finally. “They spend loads of time together, but they don’t seem to like each other that way. They act like….” He searched for an apt comparison and, to his surprise, found one. “ They act like Bertie and Winnifred do.” Bertie and Winnifred were distant cousins on his father’s side. They were siblings, but they were also best friends. Neville had always rather envied them their closeness and the way they looked at each other and talked to one another was exactly the way that Harry and Hermione looked and talked.

“Good. And the other students? What do they think about her?”

“The Slytherins don’t like her.” Neville began. “But that’s mostly because she gets better marks than they do and she hangs around with Harry and the Weasleys. Other than that, I think that the older students don’t really know she exists, while the younger ones….” He shrugged. “Well, Hermione’s really clever and all, but she’s not all that good with _people_ , if you know what I mean.

“I do.” Neville watched his Grandmother as she processed what he’d told her. She was idly stroking the parchment of the scroll on the table in front of her. Glancing at it, he saw it was full of genealogical charts, though the print was far too small for him to read upside-down. He lifted his eyes from the scroll to find that his grandmother was gazing at him. There was an expression of dawning realization on her face.

“I’m sorry.” She said, softly.

“What?” Neville could only stare at her in shock. His grandmother never apologize to _anyone_ , least of all him. She sighed.

“After the Board of Governors meeting this morning, Minerva McGonagall pulled me aside and had…words…with me. She made it clear that it was high time I started seeing you for the man you are becoming rather than for the man I wanted you to be. In short, she reminded me—quite forcefully—that you are not your father.”

“I….ah….” Neville simply stared at her. He had absolutely no idea how to respond to his.

“She also chastised me for not attending to your memory problems. She’s quite right, of course….”

“My….memory problems.” Neville had always had difficulty remembering things, but he had never realized that it was something that could be fixed. “They….they can be fixed?”

“Possibly.” His grandmother looked at her hands and Neville was astonished to realize that she was nervous. “You see, Neville….Professor McGonagall feels—and Madam Promfrey agrees—that your poor memory may have been caused by an incorrectly performed Memory Charm.”

“A Memory Charm?” Neville was horrified. “Someone erased my memory?”

“Your Uncle Algie did it a few months after your parents were….were hurt. You see, you were there that night, Neville. When the Death Eaters arrived, your parents tried to hide you, but….somehow you managed to escape the wards they put over you and you wandered into the room where the Death Eaters were….” She took a deep, ragged breath. “where they were _torturing_ your parents. One of those _monsters_ decided that the best way to get what they wanted out of your mother and father was to torture _you_. Fortunately, the aurors arrived before they did any real damage, but I do know that you took at least one Cruciatus curse. You had nightmares every night for two months after that. I took you to St. Mungo’s, but they refused to modify your memory. You were so young, you see…they were afraid that it might do more harm than good. You….you were in a bad way, Neville. I couldn’t stand seeing you so frightened and….and seeing you like that….well, it was a constant reminder of what happened to your parents. So, I asked your Uncle Algie to perform the Charm. It appears that the Healers were right…” She seemed to be unable to look at him. “In the morning, I will call a Healer at St. Mungo’s and see what can be done to rectify the situation.”

Neville simply stared at her for a long moment. “Why are you telling me all this?” he finally asked.

“Because of what happened today at the train station.” She finally met his eyes. “Look at this.” She passed the book she had been reding to him and Neville scanned it, unsure of what he was looking for. The book was on Wizarding genealogy and the pages were full of family trees. Neville had seen the book before—his grandmother had shown him the Longbottom family tree on more than one occasion, usually accompanying the presentation with a lecture about how he needed to live up to his family’s legacy. Now, however, she’d turned to a page with so many branches and names that the diagram looked far more like a thicket than a tree. At the top….Neville gasped. 

“Gran, where did you get this?”

“It has been in our family for hundreds of years. Longbottms have a special relationship to the Hogwarts founders. You and I are descended from a cadet branch of the Hufflepuff line, after all.”

“We are?” Neville’s eyes had gone very wide. 

“We are.” She nodded. “When the main branch of the line died out, several artifacts entailed to the Hufflepuff family came into the possession of your seven times great grandfather, Thelonius Longbottom. Among those were genealogy scrolls for the descendants of the four Founders. They are enchanted stay up-to-date.” Neville turned his attention back to the scroll. At the top, written in large, curly letters, were the words “Rowena Ravenclaw.” She had, according to the scroll, married twice. The first marriage, to Padraic Ravenclaw, had produced seven children. The second marriage, to Salazar Slytherin, had produced one child. Feeling an odd sense of excitement mingled with foreboding, Neville skimmed the parchment until he reached the bottom.

As far as he could tell, only two of Rowena and Padraic’s children still had living descendants and one of those was…..”Hermione!” he breathed.

“Indeed.” Augusta Longbottom nodded. “Her great-great grandfather Junius Hooper was a wizard. He only had one child, a boy he called Marcus, who was a squib. Marcus Hooper chose to make his life in the Muggle world, married a Muggle woman and apparently, never informed his wife or their children of their magical heritage.”

“So…she’s not really Muggleborn at all, is she?” Neville looked up to see his Gran gazing at him, her expression unreadable.

“No, dear. She’s not. In fact, I suspect that if you were to look high enough on the family trees of any ‘Muggle-born’ witch or wizard, you’d find that they, too, came from Wizarding stock. Now, did you see the _other_ name of interest on the scroll?” Neville looked down again. It took him a moment to find what she was talking about and when he did, he gasped. The last living descendants of Rowena’s child with Salazar Slytherin were Albus and Abeforth Dumbledore. He stared at the name for a full minute before looking up to meet his grandmother.

“Yes, dear. It’s true.” She pulled a book off the top of the pile on the table and riffled through its pages quickly. When she’d found what she was looking for, she handed it to him. “Now read this.” Placing his thumb between the pages to mark his place, Neville glanced at the book’s cover: _Burke’s Magical Peerage: A Detailed Account of all Noble Wizarding Families both Extant and Extinct Within the Confines of the British Isles._ He opened the book again and read:

_In 1286, Delvinius Hooper was named Lord of the Magical Realm, owing to his outstanding service during the war against the Dark Wizard Halfred and to his contributions to the wisdom and knowledge of the Wizarding World—including (but not limited to) his invention of the Polyjuice Potion and discovery of the usefulness of Phoenix Feathers as a wand core. The title—and all attendant duties, salaries, and honors—are to be maintained by his magical descendants (male and female) as long as his blood flows within their veins._

Neville chewed his lip. “So Hermione’s….she’s noble? Like us?”

“Exactly like us.” His grandmother nodded. Neville looked back at the scroll. “Does Professor Dumbledore know?”

“No.” Neville was startled by the fury in her voice. “And he must not be told. Do you understand me, Neville?”

“I….yes, Gran. I understand. But why not?”

“Albus Dumbledore has been acting as the Regent of the Hooper estate for _years_. Between those families that swore fealty to the Hoopers and those that made alliances with them in the past, the Hoopers control a significant voting bloc in the Wizengamot and they are entitled to a place among the International Confederation of Wizards. Albus has been using these to forward his own agenda for _years_.”

“But…” Neville’s brow furrowed in thought. “Professor Dumbledore is Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, isn’t he? Doesn’t that mean he can’t vote?”

“Very good, Neville! Very, _very_ good!” His grandmother looked both surprised and pleased. “Minerva was right—I haven’t given you nearly enough credit…..You are perfectly correct. As Chief Warlock, Albus Dumbledore does not have a vote in the Wizengamot, nor is he permitted to act as a Regent or Proxy for anyone who _does_ have a vote. However, I happen to know that he has been using his stewardship of the Hooper title and his guardianship of Harry Potter….”

“Wait!” Neville held up a hand to stop the flow of words. “What has Harry got to do with anything?”

“The Potters are minor nobles…on par with the Malfoys.” His Gran sighed. “They attained their rank fairly recently...at the beginning of the nineteenth century, I believe…and they have no strong ties with any of the greater houses. Therefore, they vote independently. Dumbledore claimed guardianship of Harry as soon as Sirius Black was thrown into Azkaban. He sent Harry off to live with Muggles while he set about using the family name and fortune to further his own aims.”

“Harry and Hermione….” Neville took a deep breath. “They don’t know about any of this, Gran.”

“I know.” She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, wearily. “I believe that Dumbledore is deliberately keeping Harry in the dark, but I don’t think he’s made the connection about Hermione. Not yet, anyway. You see, it has never occurred to the man that Muggleborns could possibly be the distant descendants of witches and wizards, let alone that any of them could be related to him through his ever-so-great grandmother Rowena Ravenclaw. As far as he knows, the Hooper line is dead, magically speaking. So, he was within his rights as the nearest magical relative, to claim stewardship. However, when he became Chief Warlock, he was obligated to disclose that fact to the Wizengamot and make other arrangements. He did not. And he certainly knew what he was doing when he took guardianship of the Potter estate.”

Neville thought about this for a few minutes. “Why haven’t you told anyone?” He asked, quietly. His grandmother was quite outspoken about corruption in the current Ministry for Magic and he had a hard time believing she would tolerate such obvious abuse of power in silence.

“Albus Dumbledore is a very powerful man, both magically and politically.” She replied, quietly. “He has proven, over and over again, that he is willing to bend, twist, or simply ignore any law that stands between him and his ambition. He is ruthless against his enemies and he is adored….revered, almost…by most of the witches and wizards in Britain. Were I to denounce him now….” She made a chopping gesture with her hand. “He would destroy me and, I suspect, you as well since you are my Heir. With you out of the way, the Longbottom title would pass to your Aunt Lilith and she is, Gods help me, a weak-minded fool who will do anything Dumbledore says.”

“What do we do?” Neville asked, his voice small.

“We wait. And we prepare. And we plan.” His grandmother gave him a grim smile. “Starting tomorrow, you will be my Heir in fact as well as in name. We are going to go to St. Mungo’s and see what we can do about your memory. Then, we are going to Diagon Alley to get you a wand of your own. I regret forcing you to use your father’s wand…he did great things with that wand, but I forgot that the wand is merely a tool. It is the wizard who is great, not the wand. This summer, you and I will begin going over the estates, duties, and privileges of the Lords Longbottom. It’s high time you began to learn about your inheritance. And Miss Granger must be informed of _her_ inheritance, of course.”

“Of course.” Neville was glad he was sitting down as his legs felt like they had turned to water. He had a feeling that his life was about to become a whole lot more interesting. He was fairly certain that this was not, on the whole, a good thing.

**

( _Four days later)_

Dan and Emma Granger only gave their daughter three rules during her school holidays. 1) Don’t burn the house down. 2) No overseas phone calls without permission and 3) No schoolwork during the first week of the summer holiday. The first rule had been established when she was nine and had been doing a science experiment in the kitchen. While the fire had been easily doused, Hermione’s parents had felt that some sort of rule was needed to ensure that no similar accidents occurred in the future. The second rule had been established during the summer between her first and second years at Hogwarts, when Hermione had made several calls to the United States in an effort to get more information about a particular subject she was researching for her History of Magic essay. She hadn’t bothered to mention the calls to her parents, who had gotten a rather nasty shock when they’d received their next telephone bill. The third rule had been established after last summer when a power outage in their building had forced Dan and Emma to close up shop early on the second day of Hermione’s holiday. They’d come home to find their daughter surrounded by books and complaining bitterly that the wand restriction placed on underage witches and wizards made it impossible for her to practice turning teacups into toadstools.

The minute Hermione had walked into the house, her father had confiscated her trunk with all her schoolbooks and had hidden it somewhere in her parents’ room. Hermione had spent the past four days sleeping, taking walks in the nearby park, and thinking hard. She’d learned a lot in the past year and, though she hated to admit it, the most important things she’d learned hadn’t come from a book or a teacher. Now, sitting at her desk, she surveyed the sheets of paper in front of her and frowned. It was time to stop wool-gathering and make some concrete plans and decisions.

The first sheet of paper was labeled SCHOOL. On it was listed all the courses she was taking, followed by a list of all the professors who taught them. On her list of courses, she had already drawn a hard line through Divination. Not only was she not planning on taking it next year, she wasn’t planning on studying it again, ever! She wasn’t quite sure she could ever forgive Trelawney for ruining her interest in a subject—even one as far-fetched and seemingly useless as Divination—but that wasn’t really important now. 

Reluctantly, she picked up a pen and drew a line through Muggle Studies. While she was still eager to learn about the many ways in which, despite the International Statute of Secrecy, the magical and Muggle worlds interacted and influenced one another, she had come to the conclusion that she wasn’t going to get what she wanted from Hogwarts. The Muggle Studies teacher, Professor Burbage, was a nice enough woman and was, technically Muggle-born, but the woman was nearly a hundred years old and had been adopted by a magical family when she was eight. So, for all intents and purposes, she had about as much practical knowledge of the modern Muggle World as Arthur Weasley did. So, dropping her course wasn’t really a hardship for Hermione.

Carefully, Hermione studied the remaining twelve courses and, after some thought, placed a little “x” next to Astronomy, Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology, and Art. She would continue with those courses and take her OWLs in them, but she saw no reason to pursue NEWTs in them, as they wouldn’t help her in her future career. That left Charms, Transfiguration, Potions, Defense Against the Dark Arts, Arithmancy, Ancient Runes, History of Magic, and International Studies. She sat back and studied her list, nibbling on her pen. With NEWTs in those subjects, her career options were nearly limitless. It was true, without a NEWT in Herbology, she would not be able to obtain a Mastery in Potions or rise to the highest ranks of the Healing profession, but as she had no desire to do either, she hardly thought this a loss.

Turning her attention to the list of teachers, she reluctantly put an “x” next to Hagrid’s name as well as marking both Professor Snape and Professor Binns in a similar manner. Snape hated her, Binns was useless for anything other than dry facts and figures and, though she loved Hagrid dearly and knew he was an expert in his field, Hermione recognized that he was not a good teacher. She suspected that, with training and experience, he had to potential to be brilliant at it, but that would take a while. Once again, she wondered how Dumbledore could have been so foolish as to thrust Hagrid into that situation so completely unprepared. He’d told her, during one of the visits she’d made when Ron and Harry weresn’t speaking to her, that he’d only had two weeks’ notice before the beginning of the term. Hermione shook her head. She had to focus. 

She studied the remainder of her list and jotted down a few notes next to each of the remaining names—when term started again, she intended to request meetings with all the teachers remaining on their list to discuss career options, apprenticeships and the requirements for Masteries in their subjects. One of her chief complaints about Hogwarts was that students were given almost no guidance with regards to their course selection or possible future careers. She suspected that this was due, in large part, to the fact that British Wizarding society seemed to be modeled on Muggle Victorian society. Everyone knew everyone and apprenticeships and jobs were gotten through connections rather than through what Hermione considered to be “traditional” Muggle hiring practices of application and interview. There was nothing wrong with that system, per se, but the system was very hard for a Muggleborn—someone who had no existing family connections within the Wizarding world—to crack.

_Tap, tap, tap_. Startled, Hermione looked up and found herself staring at an owl, who was sitting on the branch of a tree outside her window. Though she didn’t recognize this particular owl, she did recognize the crest with the golden, double-handled cup that was tied to its chest. The owl belonged to Neville or, more likely, his grandmother. Hermione stood quickly and opened the window. The owl dropped not one, but three envelopes in her hand, then took off as silently as it had come. Sinking back into her chair, Hermione stared at the envelopes. All three were of the same creamy white parchment and all three bore the same red wax seals. Two were addressed to her and one was addressed to her parents. Hermione recognized Neville’s neat, loopy handwriting on one of the letters for her, so she opened it first.

_Dear Hermione:_

_How are you? I hope you’re enjoying your holiday. Have you finished your homework yet? I haven’t even started mine—I spent two days in St. Mungo’s (I’ll explain later) and then my Gran and I spent a day doing some shopping on Diagon Alley. I got a new wand!_

_My Gran has decided to spend a month at our house in Greece this summer and she’s taking me with her. I mentioned that you were really interested in learning about the ancient Greek witches and wizards and she suggested that I invite you to come with us. Our house is located on the island of Santorini and Gran says she can make arrangements for a guide to take us to all the magical and Muggle sites of interest in the area. I know she’s writing a letter to you and she’ll probably write one to your parents as well. We’ll be leaving on July 21 st and we’ll be back about a week before term begins, so we’ll have plenty of time to shop for next year’s school supplies. Let me know what you think!_

_Your friend,_

_Neville_

By the time she was finished reading, Hermione was bouncing up and down on her chair with excitement. Quickly, she snatched up the second letter addressed to her and tore it open.

_Dear Miss Granger –_

_It was a great pleasure meeting you the other day and I want to thank you, again, for all the assistance and encouragement you’ve given my grandson over the past three years. Neville tells me that you are very interested in magical history and that you have an especial fondness for the ancient Greeks. Our family has a house on the island of Santorini and Neville and I will be spending three weeks there this summer. Would you are to join us? As Neville has no doubt told you, we will be leaving England on the 21 st of July and will return about a week before the beginning of the fall term. I have taken the liberty of writing to your parents to introduce myself and to assure them of your safety and of the propriety of the situation. Should you decide to join us, please send an owl on or before July 1, as we will need to make arrangements for your luggage. I do hope you will come, dear—I am most anxious to get to know you better and I know Neville will enjoy himself a great deal more with someone his own age around the place. _

_Yours sincerely,_

_Augusta Longbottom_

It was a good thing that the Granger’s house sat in the middle of a fairly large proprety as Hermione’s squeals of joy might very well have upset the neighbors.

**

Gringott’s was not crowded when Hermione stepped through the doors and into the marble hall and it took her only a few minutes to exchange some pound notes for Greek currency—both Magical and Muggle. Once that was done, she stationed herself near the entrance to wait for Neville and his grandmother. They had arranged to meet at Gringotts at two o’clock on the 21st, but it was only one-thirty, so Hermione knew she had time to read the letters that she had received that morning from Ron, Harry and Ginny. Opening her satchel, she pulled them out, then leaned against the wall and opened the first envelope, which was addressed in Harry’s hand.

_Dear Hermione –_

_Thanks so much for the candy you sent me! Dudley’s diet isn’t going well – yesterday, Aunt Petunia found out that he’s been hoarding chocolate in his room. He won’t tell her where he got it, but I have my suspicions. I’m just glad she’s too scared to come into my room – I’ve got the candy you sent, plus some food Mrs. Weasley sent hidden under a floorboard under my bed, but it wouldn’t be hard for someone who was looking to notice it. Plus, Hagrid sent a tin of his Treacle fudge that’s so big it won’t fit under the floorboard, so I had to put it on the floor of my closet._

_I’ve had a couple of letters from Snuffles. He won’t tell me where he is, of course, but he says that he and Buckbeak are doing well, so that something – right? I wish I could get the Daily Prophet – I’d really like to know what’s going on. But Uncle Vernon would throw a fit if an owl carrying a newspaper showed up here every day._

_Your trip to Greece sounds excellent! You mentioned you were thinking of getting a Wizarding camera like Colin’s. Did you? Ron’s invited me to go with him and his family to the Quidditch World Cup. They’re picking me up on Friday. It’s too bad you won’t be able to come with us, but I know you’ll have a great time. Tell Neville I said “Hi!”_

_Love,_

_Harry_

Smiling, Hermione tucked Harry’s letter away and opened the letter from Ginny.

_Dear Hermione –_

_Oh, you trip to Greece sounds absolutely lovely! We’re going to the Quidditch World Cup (but you already know that, of course) and, while I’m sure it will be loads of fun, but I can certainly see how you would prefer Greece. Ron is being a prat about it, naturally, Fred, George, and I have taken it upon ourselves t make him see the errors of his ways. By the time we board the Hogwarts Express, he should be decent enough to share a compartment with._

_Harry is coming to the World Cup with us. He arrives on Friday. I’m going to do my best not to be a complete wreck around him this year, honest! That reminds me – I got a letter from Colin Creevey last week. He asked me to go to Hogsmeade with him when we get back to school, but….get this! He suggested we invite Harry to come along with us! I almost told him that if he wants to date Harry so badly, he should simply ask him and leave me out of it, but I restrained myself and simply told him that Mum and Dad won’t let me date until my fifth year. If he’s still after Harry’s hide then, I’ll have a thing or two to say to him, but that’s two years away, so I’m not going to worry about it now. Oh – you’re the only one who knows about this besides Mum. Please don’t tell Harry or Ron – Harry would be dreadfully embarrassed, I know, and I’m sure Ron would behave like a prat which would only make things worse._

_Tell Neville I said “hi!” Are you two a couple now? Ron insists you must be as that is the only reason he can think of that you’d rather go to Greece than to the Quidditch World Cup with us. Don’t get me wrong – I like Neville and if you two are a couple, I’ll be very happy for you, but I never had the impression that you liked him that way. Have you been holding out on me, Granger???_

_Anyway, have a wonderful time and I’ll see you on the train!_

_Lots of love,_

_Ginny_

As she stuffed Ginny’s letter back in the envelope, Hermione sighed. She gazed at the final envelope, which was covered by Ron’s nearly illegible scrawl and then put it back into her bag, unopened. She’d have to read it some time, she knew, but she was excited about the trip and didn't want him to spoil it for her. Once again, she found herself wondering why she was friends with Ronald Weasley.

That was a subject that had occupied her mind a great deal this summer and she was no closer to an answer now than she had been the day she stepped off the train. She was well aware that some of the blame for their fights over the past year fell on her shoulders—while she stood by her decision to inform Professor McGonagall about the mysterious Firebolt, she knew good and well that she’d been unreasonably stubborn in the matter of Scabbers’ supposed death at the hands of Crookshanks. It ddin’t really matter that Scabbers had not, in fact, died nor did it matter that Crookshanks had been right about him all along. She could—and should—have had more sympathy towards Ron in that situation. That didn’t, however, excuse his behavior entirely.

From Christmas until the very end of term, Ron had told anyone who would listen that he wasn’t speaking to her. Unfortunately, while it was true that he hadn’t spoken directly _to_ her, he had kept up a running stream of mean and nasty comments _about_ her. In Harry’s presence, he had confined himself to the standard twaddle about how she was mental for wanting to study all the time and how she was heartless and cruel for not mourning the death of his pet rat, but when Harry wasn’t around…. Hermione closed her eyes as a wave of fresh hurt and anger swept over her. Even though Harry hadn’t spoken to her after the incident with the Firebolt, he had never said an unkind word about her to anyone else and he _had_ continued speaking with her after Scabbers disappeared, even if he’d spent half his time trying to convince her to apologize.

As Hermione opened her eyes and scanned the hall again, she thought about the unopened letter in her bag. For the life of her, she could not understand why Ron was upset that she wasn’t going to the Quidditch World Cup. It wasn’t as if he hadn’t known she was going to Greece – she’d written letters to all her friends the day her parents had agreed to the trip—and he knew perfectly well that she had very little interest in Quidditch. It was as if….as if….

“Hermione!” Her train of thought was interrupted by Neville, who had entered the bank just behind his grandmother. Smiling, she shoved all thoughts of Ronald Weasley to the back of her brain and walked over to join them.

“Hello, dear. Have you been waiting long?” Augusta Longbottom gave her a warm smile.

“Not really.” Hermione shrugged. “My Dad dropped me off a bit early as I needed to get some money changed.”

“Good.” Lady Longbottom nodded. “I’ll just let the goblins know we’re here and then we can be on our way.”

“How, exactly, are we getting there?” Hermione asked. One thing she’d found curious about her International Studies class was that there was very little information about how magical people traveled from country to country. In fact, she’d often wondered how wizards traveled over long distances in their _own_ countries. Broomsticks were not very practical – they were far too susceptible to wind and they couldn’t reach a particularly high altitude. A witch or wizard on a broomstick could easily be seen by Muggles (as witnessed by countless Muggle folktales). She and Neville were underage, so Apparition was out of the question and even if they could Apparate, most witches and wizards could only go about five miles at a time. That was certainly not advisable when one had to cross an ocean. There was the Floo network, but as far as she could tell, that was limited to the British Isles, as was the Knight Bus. There were always Portkeys, but she didn’t know how far one could travel using one and she’d heard that they weren’t the most comfortable way to travel.

“There’s a GoneGate in every branch of Gringotts.” Neville replied. Seeing her look of incomprehension, he blushed. “Sorry, Hermione. I keep forgetting that you didn’t grow up with this stuff. A GoneGate is a…a portal of sorts. It’s Goblin magic, so no one really knows how it works, but they have one in each branch of the bank. You step through the Gate in England and you come out of the Gate at the Gringotts bank that’s closest to your destination. We’ll be Gating to Athens and taking a Portkey from there to Santorini.”

“Is Gringotts the only place that has GoneGates?” Hermione listened raptly as they watched Neville’s Gran speak to one of the goblins behind the desk.

“No…they’ve got one at the Ministry, but that’s strictly for Ministry employees. As a member of the Wizengamot, Gran would technically be allowed to use it, but she prefers the one here. A few of the oldest houses have private Gates, but those are really heavily regulated.” Neville’s grandmother returned at this point, accompanied by a goblin.

“This way, please.” The goblin led them to one of the many doors that lined the hall and Hermione stared about her in wonder. Harry had told her about the mine carts that wizards used to get to their vaults and she had assumed they would use something similar to get to the GoneGate. However, this did not appear to be the case as the goblin ushered them into a room that bore a striking resemblance to the waiting room at her parents’ dental office. The room was small and the walls were lined with chairs. There was a table with magazines like _Witch Weekly_ , _Transfiguration Today_ , and _The Muggle Mind_. There were also several old copies of _The Daily Prophet_ and Hermione had to look away before she made eye contact with the moving photograph of Sirius Black. At the far end of the room, there was a small desk behind which sat another goblin. There was a door behind this desk which, Hermione guessed, must lead to some sort of inner office. The only other occupant of the room sat in a chair close to the goblin’s desk and was completely hidden behind a newspaper.

“Lady Augusta Longbottom, Mr. Neville Longbottom, and Miss Hermione Granger.” The goblin who had shown them in announced. He gave them a slight bow and then left, closing the door behind them.

“Greetings and welcome to the Gringotts GoneGate center.” The goblin behind the desk spoke in a monotone, as if he had delivered this speech thousands of times before. He glanced briefly at a book on the desk in front of him. “Your appointment is scheduled for two-fifteen. However, I regret that there will be a slight delay.”

“A delay?” Lady Longbottom raised an eyebrow.

“We have had an urgent request ….”

“Nonsense!” Hermione noticed that Lady Longottom’s posh accent had returned. “When I made this appointment, I was informed—as I have been informed every other time I’ve requested the use of a GoneGate—that my appointment time was fixed.

eye contact with the moving photograph of Sirius Black. At the far end of the room, there was a small desk behind which sat another goblin. There was a door behind this desk which, Hermione guessed, must lead to some sort of inner office. The only other occupant of the room sat in a chair close to the goblin’s desk and was completely hidden behind a newspaper.

“Lady Augusta Longbottom, Mr. Neville Longbottom, and Miss Hermione Granger.” The goblin who had shown them in announced. He gave them a slight bow and then left, closing the door behind them.

“Greetings and welcome to the Gringotts GoneGate center.” The goblin behind the desk spoke in a monotone, as if he had delivered this speech thousands of times before. He glanced briefly at a book on the desk in front of him. “Your appointment is scheduled for two-fifteen. However, I regret that there will be a slight delay.”

“A delay?” Lady Longbottom raised an eyebrow.

“We have had an urgent request ….”

“Nonsense!” Hermione noticed that Lady Longottom’s posh accent had returned. “When I made this appointment, I was informed—as I have been informed every other time I’ve requested the use of a GoneGate—that my appointment time was fixed.


	7. Untitled Black Family Saga

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I was inspired to start this after I read "Arx Domus Nigrae" by MaryRoyale. Same premise, but very different story (I hope).  
> Note - this is intended to be a Hermione/Multi story and there is Dumbledore-bashing

I was inspired to write this story after reading “Arx Domus Nigrae” by MaryRoyale. This is an amazing story and I highly recommend it. While both stories utilize essentially the same premise (Hermione is a Keeper who is responsible for reviving and redeeming the House of Black), any other similarities between them is purely coincidental.

**NOTES/WARNINGS:**

This story begins one week after the end of “Harry Potter and the Order of the Phoenix.” It is NOT canon-compliant with the last two books of the series, although I do use some ideas, characters and situations from them.

The primary relationships in this story are those between Hermione and the four men of the House of Black. There are a number of other background/implied relationships that will include heterosexual and homosexual pairings and, perhaps, another multiple relationship or two.

**

**PROOGUE – Mirrors**

There are many magic mirrors. Some show you your fondest dreams or your worst nightmares. Others reflect your deepest fears or your heart’s desire. Still others serve as windows onto the past, the future, or the deepest reaches of a man’s mind or soul. Most of these mirrors were created in the dawn of time when Wild Magic still flowed freely throughout the British Isles, though there were still some who possessed the will, the knowledge, and the power to craft them at the time that Hogwarts was raised. Legend has it that the Founders themselves made the last four magic mirrors and stored them somewhere within the castle to be used by future generations.

Over the centuries, many of the mirrors were destroyed. Others were lost and still others were collected and hidden away in the Department of Mysteries. However, there are still a few in the hands of private owners who guard their treasures more jealously than a mother dragon guards her eggs. The Head of a family might only learn of a mirror’s existence and location when reading the will of his or her predecessor. Some Heads of House didn’t trust their Heirs with the secret of the mirrors at all, so those, too, were lost…until, that is, they wanted to be found.

******

**Black Manor – September 19, 1780**

Somehow, Rigel Black wasn’t at all surprised to discover that there was a room in Black Manor that he’d never known about, let alone entered. The room would have remained hidden and forgotten had he not uncovered his many-times-great-uncle Romulus’s journals. Uncle Romulus had been a paranoid old geezer who had deeply despised his entire family. Fortunately, he had never been the Head of the House of Black, but he had been Heir-presumptive for a time and had, therefore, been let in on the secret of the Mirror of Prophecy that had been in the family for generations. 

Romulus’s brother, Remus, married late and his Heir was still at Hogwarts when he died, so it had been left to Romulus to instruct him on the family’s secrets and his duties as Head of House. Romulus had done so very reluctantly, but had decided that the Mirror was too dangerous to be used by anyone, let alone his nephew who was, in his opinion, at least half troll on his mother’s side. Since he feared the consequences of destroying the mirror altogether, Romulus had hidden it in a room on the top floor of the Manor, then placed a _Fidelius_ charm on the door. In a move that was both brilliant and astonishingly simple, Romulus had asked Tini, the youngest House Elf on the property, to act as Secret-Keeper and then ordered him to divulge the secret only to a Head of House who specifically asked to hear it. While House Elves weren’t immortal, it was not unusual for them to live upwards of a thousand years. No one else knew about the mirror at the time, so Romulus had reasoned that by the time Tini died and the _Fidelius_ was broken, no one would know or care about the dusty mirror hidden in the back of a small attic storeroom.

As he stood in front of the cloth-covered glass, Rigel briefly wondered if Uncle Romulus hadn’t had the right idea. He’d seen, at first hand, how dangerous knowledge of the future could be. People tended to think that it was their right and responsibility to create the worlds they’d seen and, since Divination of any sort was, at best, uncertain, they often did more harm than good. Still, Rigel had a healthy respect for omens and he couldn’t help but feel that it was no accident that he’d found Uncle Romulus’ journal today, of all days. It was the first anniversary of his beloved Edonia’s death.

Slowly, almost reverently, Rigel pulled the cloth away from the mirror. The frame was surprisingly plain, made of fine, dark wood, but lacking any embellishment. The glass was clear and, for a moment, all Rigel could see was his own reflection. Then, as if someone had dropped a stone into a pool, the reflection began to ripple and change. 

Rigel was looking at a field bathed in afternoon sunlight. In the center of the field was a grove of trees and in the center of _that_ was a small gazebo. A man and woman, dressed in very odd clothing that Rigel could only assume was of Muggle origin, were sitting in the gazebo and appeared to be reading in companionable silence. The woman was, Rigel noted, heavily pregnant. Every so often, she would shift uncomfortably, but the man didn’t seem to notice. Watching the scene caused the back of Rigel’ mind to itch with the half-remembered sense of recognition. He knew he had never seen this place or these people before, but there was still something about the scene that seemed _familiar_.

“Daniel!” The woman said, sharply. She had dropped the book to the bench bedside her and was looking down at something that was out of Rigel’ field of vision. “Daniel!” She practically had to shout to get the man’s attention.

“What is it, Em?” From the rather bleary-eyed, vacant expression on the man’s face, Rigel guessed he’d been dozing behind the pages of his book.

“My water broke.” The woman gasped, clutching at her stomach. “It’s time!”

“Oh….uh….” The sense of familiarity grew stronger as Rigel tried to match what he was seeing with the bits of information floating around his head. A couple…a baby….a field….a grove…. He stopped as all the air suddenly flew out of his lungs. “Okay, I’ll get the car.”

“Hurry…” the woman gasped, but the man was already gone. 

The scene suddenly shifted and Rigel found himself staring at the front parlor of Black Manor. An old man sat in state in a large, throne-like chair by the fire. Two boys stood before him, fidgeting nervously. From the strange cut of their robes and the even stranger hairstyles, Rigel guessed that he was witnessing a scene that would not happen for many years to come.

“You leave for Hogwarts tomorrow.” The man said, abruptly. He was scowling. “Cygnus, you did well enough last term, but I do not want to hear any more nonsense about you _fraternizing_ with the Mudbloods. Is that clear?”

“Yes, father.” The older of the two boys looked to be fourteen or fifteen. He looked perplexed. “What am I to do about Ancient Runes, father? Professor Kendrick assigns partners…”

“I have spoken with Headmaster Dippet.” The old man cut him off abruptly. “He assures me that that… _woman_ will not make such a grievous error again. If she does, you are to inform me at once. Do you understand?”

“Yes, father.” The boy looked rather miserable and Rigel felt a stirring of sympathy for him.

“Look after your brother.” The old man turned his attention to the younger of the two boys who was, if Cygnus was any judge, newly turned eleven. “Orion, I expect to hear that you are comporting yourself in a manner that is befitting a Son of the House of Black.”

“Yes, father.” The boy was clearly terrified. 

“You will send me an owl tomorrow night informing me of your Sorting.” The man continued, as if he hadn’t heard. “I expect you to join your brother in Slytherin, as is family tradition.” Rigel’s brow furrowed at this. When would being sorted into a particular Hogwarts house become a family “tradition?” He had four siblings and each had gone to a different House. “Ravenclaw is acceptable, but I would rather not have to hear that you got yourself sorted into Gryffindor. There is too much of your mother in you already.”

“Yes father.” 

“Your brother will make sure you meet the right people. Follow his lead in all things, but remember that you are betrothed to your cousin Walburga. I will be most displeased to hear that you are behaving In such as a way as to dishonor her….or me.”

“Yes, father…I mean, no….I mean, you won’t hear anything bad about me, father.”

“Very well.” The old man stood abruptly and the two boys took several hasty steps backwards, so as not to be in his way. “I am going to retire for the night. The elves will take you to King’s Cross in the morning.”

“Good night, father.” The boys chorused, though Rigel wasn’t sure if the old man heard them or not. There was a moment of silence after he left, as if the boys were waiting to see whether he would come back. Finally, the older brother let out a sigh of relief.

“Glad that’s done.” He muttered. “We won’t have to talk to him again until next summer.”

“Cugnus, what….” The younger boy—Orion--drew in a shaky breath. “What happens if I’ sorted into Hufflepuff?” Cygnus shuddered.

“Don’t even think about it, Rye.” He said, sounding quite serious. “No Black has _ever_ disgraced the family by being put in Hufflepuff. I bet Father would disown you…..” Rigel’s mouth dropped open in shock. What was the boy talking about? _He’d_ been in Hufflepuff and damn proud of it, too! Though he would never admit it to any of his children, one of the happiest moments of his life had been when he’d received the letter from his daughter, Druella, informing him that she’d taken the sign of the Badger as well. He had no time to dwell on this, though, because the scene was shifting again. 

Once again, he found himself in the front parlor of Black Manor, though everything seemed….darker, somehow. Two couples were sitting on facing sofas. The men were clearly brothers and Rigel assumed that the women must be their wives. The younger, prettier woman was holding an open letter.

“Hufflepuff!” The older, fatter woman sneered. “A disgrace.”

“Why?” The younger woman looked genuinely confused. “There’s nothing wrong with Hufflepuff. _I_ was a Hufflepuff.”

“No _Black_ has ever been sorted into Hufflepuff.” The older woman declared. “It’s a disgrace…”

“Walburga, please!” The man sitting next to her sounded weary, as if he was often called upon to remind his wife of the basic civilities.

“I’m as much a Black as you are, Walburga.” The younger woman hissed. “And so is Bellatrix. I will _not_ allow you to berate and humiliate my daughter because of _your_ stupid prejudices!”

Another shift and this time Rigel found himself looking at an unfamiliar room. Wherever they were, they were not in Black Manor anymore. The new room was, quite frankly, hideously ugly, though someone apparently thought it fit for use as a drawing room or parlor of some sort. The two men from the previous scene were back, though both looked older, as was the fat, unpleasant woman. Everyone looked terribly angry.

“She has _disgraced_ this family!” The woman shrieked.

“She got married!” The man who was not her husband retorted. “That is hardly a disgraceful act, Walburga. It’s not like she got caught flashing her knickers at the Three Broomsticks!”

“She married a Mudblood! When our Lord hears of this….”

“ _Your_ Lord.” The man interjected. “Not mine.”

“Peace!” The other man held up his hand. “Cygnus, while I do not agree with my wife’s views about the propriety of Andy’s actions…”

“What?” Walburga shrieked, but her husband ignored her and continued on 

“There is the issue of the betrothal contract with Rodolphus LeStrange.”

“A contract that _you_ entered into, without my knowledge or consent!” Cygnus snapped. “ _I_ am the Head of this family, Orion. Do I _really_ need to keep reminding you of that fact?”

“Not me.” Orion muttered, glancing sidelong at his wife. Cygnus merely rolled his eyes.

“You must disown her _immediately!_ ” Walburga seemed to be incapable of listening to anything other than the sound of her own voice.

“No.” Cygnus said, flatly. “Get this through your head, Walburga. I am Head of House Black and Andromeda is _my_ daughter. You have absolutely no say in what happens to her. And while we’re on the subject, you will stay the _hell_ away from Bellatrix!”

Another shift. Rigel wanted to step away from the mirror, to not see what was going to happen to his beloved family, but his feet seemed to be rooted to the floor.

He was now staring at the Black family tapestry. He watched in horror as the light of a spell burned first one name, then another off of this most sacred object.

Another shift.

Another room – this one was full of light and appeared to be a ballroom of some sort. There was a crowd of people. At one end of the room was a dais, upon which stood a tall man who must have once been handsome. Though Rigel could hear the low murmur of many conversations, he had the distinct sense that everyone else in the room was discreetly watching this man, waiting to see what he would do. After a moment, he raised his hands.

“My friends!” he said, his voice low and full of charm. “We are gathered here tonight to welcome two new members into our company. Bellatrix Black! Regulus Black! Step forward.” The crowd parted and a woman and a man….no, a _boy_ ….stepped into the space they’d left in front of the dais. The boy couldn’t be more than sixteen or seventeen and was visibly shaking, but the woman stood tall and proud, her eyes never leaving those of the man on the dais. 

“You have done well, my servants.” The woman seemed to glow with the praise. “Now, bare your left arms and I shall bestow my mark of favor upon you.” Rigel watched in horror as the man—the _stranger—_ proceeded to brand members of his family like cattle.

Another scene. Another room. This one was, however, unlike anything Rigel had seen before. All of the other rooms, no matter how dark or depressing, had clearly belonged to stately manors. This was….well…a hovel. There was a structure that could, at one time, have been called a bed in one corner, and an odd crate here or there, but nothing else. The only light was that of a full moon streaming through an open window. Suddenly, a door was flung open and a large, black dog entered the room. In its jaws, it held the leg of a boy with red hair. The boy’s other leg was clearly broken and he seemed to be only semi-conscious. 

The dog dropped the boy and, with a swirl of unseen magic, transformed into a skeletally thin man with long, matted hair. Even though he’d never seen the man before, Rigel recognized the gray eyes and the long, straight nose that were present in almost every member of the Black family. He also recognized the rags the man wore as belonging to Azkaban Prison. _What_ had his descendant done to land him in _that_ hell-hole?

Rigel watched as the man picked the boy up and put him on the bed with a surprising amount of gentleness. The boy was coming to his senses and seemed absolutely terrified, but before he could do or say much, the sound of running feet and voices came from somewhere outside of the room. The skeletal man jumped back into the shadows as the door was flung open again and two more children—a boy and a girl--ran into the room. The red-haired boy on the bed tried to warn them, but the prisoner had the door shut behind them before they could react. And then it happened. The girl made eye contact with the prisoner and both glowed a pure and vibrant gold. Rigel gasped, as the image faded.

Everything made sense now. The decline and fall of the House of Black, the baby born in a grove of trees….it all fit together. Carefully covering the Mirror with the cloth again, Rigel slowly left the room, plans for the future already running through his head.

**

**CHAPTER ONE –**

**The Lambert Hotel – June 28, 1996**

The Lambert Hotel was a small, discreet establishment located in a quiet neighborhood on the outskirts of London. While it got the occasional tourist, the bulk of its rooms were rented by the month, rather than the day or the week. For all that, the Lambert was known for its excellent cuisine and top drawer service. Most of the residents were business-people from all over the British Isles who had to stay in London for an extended period of time and had decided that it was more cost effective to stay at a residential hotel than to rent a flat. There were two gentlemen who were divorcing their wives and needed a place to stay while things sorted themselves out. And there was the girl in Room 183.

Everyone knew about the girl in Room 183. Her story had been splashed all over the front page of the local newspaper and the poor thing had lived across the park. No one had seen her leave her room since she’d checked in on the night of the 26th, but that wasn’t particularly surprising. The funerals were to be held on the 30th and she’d have to leave to attend those. Several of the nosier tenants had already staked out prime viewing places in the hotel’s lobby.

“You can still smell the smoke when you step outside.” Mrs. Farley, the housekeeper, confided to Elsie, the head maid. “Thank goodness the trees in the park block the view of the house…or what’s left of it.”

“Poor thing.” Elsie murmured, casting a glance in the general direction of the room where the object of her pity was, no doubt, crying her eyes out. “But she’ll have to come out some time, won’t she? I mean the police will want to speak with her, won’t they?”

“There’s been an inspector here a couple of times.” Mrs. Farley looked around quickly to be sure that no one was listening in, then lowered her voice. “He spent nearly an hour in there this morning.”

“They don’t think that….that _she_ ….” Elsie was both horrified and delighted.

“No.” Mrs. Farley shook her head. “I asked the Inspector about it, point blank. Told him I didn’t want that kind of nonsense at my hotel. He assured me that the girl was at the library when the fire started. Plenty of people saw her. No, they’re just asking her questions. Trying to figure out who did such a terrible thing.”

“Did the Inspector say anything about those funny lights in the sky?” Elsie breathed, hugging herself nervously. She had _seen_ the lights, while out for a stroll with her boyfriend. She’d swear to her dying day that they looked like a skull with a snake in its mouth, though Henry told her she was letting her imagination run away with her again. He did, however, agree with her that the color had been quite….odd. He thought they were fireworks, but who shot off fireworks in the middle of the afternoon?

“No.” Mrs. Farley hadn’t seen the lights herself, but had heard enough about them—from sources far more credible than Elsie—to make her blood run cold. “To be frank, I didn’t dare ask.”

**

Room 183 was actually a suite of rooms consisting of a sitting room-slash-office, a bedroom, and a large bathroom meant to be shared by at least two people. It was far too much for one person, but it had been the only room available when Hermione Granger had arrived and now she was glad of that fact. It made her self-imposed imprisonment a little less claustrophobic. It also meant that she could spread her books out in the sitting room without having to move everything when she wanted to sleep. Not that she was doing much of that these days, but she did lie down and make the attempt every few hours.

She was in the sitting room now, staring at a spiral bound notebook on the desk in front of her. The notebook was closed, but she didn’t need to open it to know what it contained. Nearly every page was covered with her neat handwriting—lists, records, memories, theories, questions—all the details that went into any of her research projects. There was even a neatly written conclusion paragraph on the final page of the notebook. However, looking at it gave her none of the usual sense of triumph and joy that she’d gotten from looking at other notebooks that were just as full as this one. She suspected that her lack of enthusiasm had a great deal to do with the conclusion she’d reached.

_Albus Dumbledore lied_. He’d lied when he told her that he had personally seen to it that her parents’ house was warded against Death Eater attack and, as she’d realized when she’d meticulously poured out everything she knew about her time at Hogwarts and with the Order of the Phoenix, he’d lied about almost everything else. Sitting on the desk next to the notebook was the source of all the proof Hermione needed to back up her assertions. It had been a gift from Sirius…

**

**Number 12, Grimmauld Place**

**August 31, 1995**

“Hermione?” Sirius caught her as she was heading towards the kitchen. “Can I have a moment?”

“Certainly.” He stepped back and she walked through the door he was holding for her. The library was the one part of Grimmauld Place that Hermione was going to miss. It wasn’t a particularly large library, but she had yet to find a book on its shelves that was available at Hogwarts or in the magical section of the London Public library. It was the only room in the house that Sirius had absolutely refused to allow Molly Weasley to “clean” and Hermione suspected that this was a major source of the tension between them. The one time she had taken a book out of the library, Molly had confiscated it on the grounds that it was “dark” and, had Sirius not intervened, would have cheerfully thrown it into the fire. Professor McGonagall had been forced to serve as referee in their shouting match, though she had eventually come down firmly on Sirius’ side when she discovered that the book in question was a rare first-edition _Master’s Guide to Transfiguration_. Hermione would never forget the look of disgust her professor had thrown at Molly when she’d handed the book back to Sirius.

“Perhaps you ought to know what the book is before you try to _burn_ it.” She’d hissed.

With a wrench, Hermione pulled her mind back to the present. Sirius had shut the door and was walking towards the large table in the middle of the room. He was not alone. Remus Lupin sat there looking at her, a small smile playing across his weathered face.

“What can I do for you?” Hermione slid into the seat Sirius held for her and eyed the two men carefully. She suspected that this had something to do with Harry and was wary, lest there be some ulterior motive behind their discussion. While she had no doubt that Sirius and Remus both genuinely wanted the best for Harry, Sirius was still clearly struggling with whatever the Dementors had done to him and Hermione was fairly certain that there were times he looked at _her_ best friend and saw _his_. While Remus didn’t suffer from the same debilitating psychological stresses, his loyalty and his guilt over having—in his mind, anyway—allowed Sirius to languish in prison meant that he tended to encourage Sirius in his delusions, rather than discourage them.

“I was talking to Moony last month and it occurred to me that I never properly thanked you for saving my life.” Sirius said, looking quite serious for once.

“What?” Hermione had to blink several times before the implications of his words set in. “Oh, Sirius, you don’t have to...”

“I do.” Sirius interrupted her. “Look, Hermione, Merlin knows that I don’t hold with a lot of the pureblood crap my mother tried to cram down my throat, but not all of it is bad. Before he died, my father taught me that one must always acknowledge a debt and pay it. I know you don’t see it this way, but I _do_ owe you for saving my life. It’s nothing as concrete or…formal as a Life Debt, but I feel that I need to repay you somehow. The question is how.”

“To be quite frank, Sirius doesn’t have any money.” Remus explained. 

“I wouldn’t take it anyway.” Hermione replied, feeling oddly stubborn.

“We know.” Sirius said and shot her a cheeky grin. “However, I think I’ve come up with something you _will_ take.” Turning slightly, he picked up a book from the top of a small pile sitting near the end of the table. Despite herself, Hermione leaned forward eagerly. She was surprised (and, if she was being honest with herself, a bit disappointed) to see that it was a rather battered copy of _Hogwarts: A History_. 

“Open it.” Remus said. He was grinning now, too, and Hermione looked at the two Marauders, warily. Carefully, she opened the book, trying not to show them that she was afraid something horrible was going to jump out at her. Nothing did. Hermione frowned and turned the page, then flicked through the rest of them quickly. They were all equally blank.

“The cover is just in case Mother Weasley catches you with it before you leave tomorrow.” Sirius explained. “This….” He made a grand gesture “Is the Book of Black.” There was a resounding silence.

“I think you’re going to have to elaborate a bit, Sirius.” Remus said, drily.

“This book contains….no, contains isn’t the right word….this book can _access_ any book in any Black family library.” Sirius explained. “That’s anything in here…” he waved a hand at the selves surrounding them “and anything in any library located on a Black property.” Hermione’s mouth dropped open.

“I saw the library at Black Manor once.” Remus said, sounding dreamy. “It was at least twice the size of the library at Hogwarts.” Hermione heard an odd squeaking noise and it took a moment to realize that she was the one making it.

“You…you’re _giving_ this to me?” She finally asked, staring at the treasure on the table in front of her. “I can’t…it’s too much…”

“Relax, Hermione. It’s not a family heirloom or anything.” Sirius assured her. “Remus and I made it for you. We….well, when I say we I really mean Remus….Remus is quite good at what Muggles call ‘Reverse Engineering.’ James let him borrow the Book of Potter just before he and Lily and Harry had to go into hiding and…well…”

“I never got a chance to give it back.” Remus suddenly looked far older than his thirty-something years. “I figured out what spells were used on it and we were able to use the same spells on this.” He tapped the book in front of her. “Plus, we added a few things to make it more useful.”

“H…how does it work?” Hermione asked.

“We could try to explain it to you.” Sirius chuckled “Or we could let you enjoy figuring it out for yourself. I suggest you start by giving it the correct password.”

“Only you might want to wait until you’re back at Hogwarts.” Remus warned. “As Sirius said, Molly Weasley would _not_ be happy to know that you have this.”

“There are some other people I can think of who wouldn’t be happy about it, either.” Sirius grumbled, shooting a dark look at the door. Remus made a quelling gesture that Hermione suspected she wasn’t supposed to see. While their interaction piqued her curiosity, she was far too interested in the book in front of her to pay too much attention. 

It wasn’t until she was in her bed at Gryffindor Tower two nights later that Hermione realized that she’d forgotten to ask what the password was. Of course, once she thought about it, it wasn’t too hard to figure out.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” she murmured, staring at the open book on her lap. Words began to form on the page and, in that instant, Hermione Granger’s world became a whole lot bigger.

**

**The Lambert Hotel**

**June 28, 1996**

Between OWLs and Umbridge, Hermione hadn’t had nearly as much time with the Book of Black as she would have liked, but she’d mastered the basic functions of calling up the catalog, searching for a particular title and, more importantly, determining what books were available on a given topic. She’d also discovered at least one of the “extras” Sirius and Remus had added to the volume—somehow, they’d connected the book to the archives of _The Daily Prophet_ , a resource that had come in quite handy during her latest research project.

_Project_. Hermione snorted softly as she considered the notebook. It--or, rather the information it contained—wasn’t so much a project as it was a deconstruction of just about everything she’d come to believe since entering the Wizarding world. She was well aware that she’d used her research to avoid dealing with the pain of what had happened to her parents, but at the same time, she couldn’t help but feel that there was a sense of urgency to it all. What she had uncovered was going to have an impact on a lot of lives, but there was only one she really cared about.

Harry.

Hermione sighed. It all came back to Harry. Every lie Dumbledore had told, every piece of manipulation seemed to be done with the aim of controlling what Harry did and who he did it with. The old man had worked tirelessly to ensure that Harry’s view of the wizarding world was what _he_ wanted it to be and that view was, she was coming to realize, dangerous. While they held different—and often opposing—visions of the way the Wizarding world should be and used different methods to achieve their ends, Hermione was swiftly coming to the conclusion that Dumbledore and Voldemort were more alike than either would care to admit. Both men saw themselves as the wizarding word’s natural and rightful leaders and both were utterly ruthless towards those who stood in their way.

But what to do about it? The Blacks had an extensive collection of books on Wizarding law and Hermione had read everything she could find about the Ministerial and legal procedures that were put in place to deal with the orphaned children of magical parents. She’d then read back issues of the _Prophet_ and discovered that Dumbledore had either used his influence as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot to circumvent those protocols or ignored them completely. The only person who could possibly have extracted Harry from the Headmaster’s clutches prior to his seventeenth birthday was Sirius Black—if, of course, he hadn’t been a wanted fugitive. But none of that mattered now. Sirius was dead and there was no bringing him back….

Hermione’s mind seemed to snag on that last thought, as though it was a thread on the sleeve of her robes that had caught on a splinter of wood. _No bringing him back_. But….was that really true? Something she’d read in passing in one of the law books floated to the surface of her memory. Quickly, she opened the Book of Black.

“I solemnly swear that I am up to no good.” She murmured. Words appeared on the page.

_Hello Hermione. What would you like to read today?_

“I need to see the entry in Blaylock’s Law concerning the custody of orphans.” The words disappeared and were replaced by the text of the book. She skimmed the entry quickly until she found what she was looking for.

“Define _Resurrected Person_.”

Blaylock’s Law disappeared.

_Resurrected Person: One who has been brought back from the dead by a Keeper or by Necromancy_.

“Define _Keeper_.” 

_Keeper: A witch who revives a chosen wizard from a defunct line for the purpose of restoring and redeeming that Line._

“What…” Hermione’s throat had gone suddenly dry. “What does someone have to do to be a Keeper.”

_See Summon the Keeper by Livia Yaxley_

_See The Rituals of Avalon, Chapter 78 by Morgana_

_See Keepers: Myth and Fact by Helga Hufflepuff…._

Closing her eyes, Hermione took a deep breath. Putting the open book down on the desk, she reached for the hotel phone. If she was going to dive into more research, she was going to need more tea. And it was almost time for her to take her potions, which meant that she needed food as well. She suspected it would be a while before she could try to sleep again.

**

**Somewhere Beyond the Veil**

I have seen it in the Mirror, my sons. There will come a time when the House of Black will falter and fall. We will allow greed and pride to overcome our honor and we will fall into Darkness. Our line will die. But all hope is not lost, my sons, for I have seen our salvation. A Keeper. A grove-born witch. One who will restore our line and redeem us in the sight of men and Magic alike. I have taken steps to prepare for her arrival and all shall be well.

The time is at hand, my sons. The Keeper calls and there are those who must answer. Those who are willing to bind themselves to her, those who are willing to lay aside their pride, vanity, prejudice and weakness so that they may act as vessels through which our family name can be cleansed and restored.

Will you answer the call?

**

**The Lambert Hotel – June 30, 1996**

The funerals had, as Hermione had expected, been horrible. They had been well attended, of course. She had large extended families on both sides and her parents had been well liked and respected by their neighbors, classmates, patients, and professional colleagues. Each and every one of them had murmured their condolences and paid their respects and then drifted away to chat with others about the horrible circumstances of the Grangers’ deaths. Most had made an effort to keep their voices low, but Hermione had still heard them. There wasn’t enough of her parents left to bury, so she’d at least been spared the agony of sitting through two internment ceremonies, but that wasn’t much comfort. 

After the services, her Aunt Claire had pulled her aside and haltingly offered her a place to stay. Hermione had politely thanked her, then explained that, before the fire, she had made plans to spend most of the summer with friends before returning to school in September and saw no reason to alter them. Her aunt had agreed wholeheartedly, obviously relieved not to have a distraught teenager on her hands. Hermione would have thought the whole exchange rather sweet, had her cousin, Natalie, not been hanging around, eavesdropping. At the mention of “friends,” Natalie had snorted rather inelegantly.

“A likely story.” She’d muttered loud enough for both Claire and Hermione to hear. Natalie was a month younger than Hermione and, growing up, their mothers had always been rather competitive. Natalie was the prettier cousin, but Hermione was clearly far more intelligent and, as the two had barreled into their teen years, there were members of the family who said that Hermione was catching Natalie up in the looks department as well. As far as Hermione was concerned, Natalie had always been a jealous bitch and only her Aunt’s presence kept her from scratching the other girl’s eyes out. Claire was not Natalie’s mother, thankfully, and had not tolerated such horrendous behavior. She’d grabbed the girl by the elbow and marched her away immediately, telling Hermione to call if she needed anything. Hermione had seized the chance to leave, before someone else accosted her.

Now, she was back in her room at the Lambert and she was at a loss as to what to do next. In her first fury and terror, she hadn’t contacted anyone in the magical world, afraid that the Death Eaters might discover she was still alive and that Dumbledore might….well, she wasn’t sure what he might do, but she was sure it wouldn’t be good. Since no one had showed up looking for her, she suspected that no one she cared about in the magical world was aware of what had happened. That was just as well. She had no idea who she could trust.

It did, however, present her with the problem of what to do next. As much as she wanted to, she couldn’t hide in her hotel room forever. She couldn’t do anything to help Harry from within these walls. Her eyes traveled, as if drawn by a magnet, to the desk. A second notebook had joined the first. This one was only partly filled, as there really wasn’t much practical information—merely myths and legends—but what there was….was intriguing.

Hermione’s mother had always enjoyed teasing her father about the fact that she’d had to give birth in a gazebo because of his poor car maintenance habits and, as a child, Hermione had loved hearing the story of how her father had gently and patiently coached her mother through labor and had wrapped his newborn daughter in his jacket to keep her warm. Since the gazebo sat on her grandfather’s land, Hermione had seen the grove of trees and listened, enraptured, as her grandmother spun tales of wonderful things happening to what she called “grove-born” children.

She’d almost forgotten about all of that until she’d started reading the legends of the Keepers. Now, the old stories her Nan used to tell her had taken on new meaning. Being Grove-born didn’t automatically make one a Keeper, of course, but it was one of the essential requirements. Hermione went through the list of all the other requirements and ticked off each box on her mental list. She was not related to anyone in the House of Black. She was not a member of a family that had sworn a blood feud with the House of Black, nor had the House of Black ever injured her personally in any way—unless you wanted to count the time Draco Malfoy had given her beaver teeth and since he was a Black on his mother’s side and the damage had been easily repaired, she was fairly sure that didn’t count. She had not sworn any magically binding vows of service to anyone else. She was not betrothed and she was a virgin. She had no idea why those last two mattered, but apparently, they did.

There were only two things holding her back. First, everything she’d read spoke of a bond between the Keeper and the person she called back, but there were no descriptions of the nature of that bond or what restrictions it might lay on either party. The other issue was that the Keeper had to be powerful enough to complete the ritual. If she was not, it would kill her. Hermione had no idea if she had the kind of power required, nor any way to find out. As far as she knew, there were very few methods of measuring a witch or wizard’s level of power and all of them were highly illegal. Hermione didn’t like going into things with such uncertainty, but she couldn’t stop staring at the notebook and contemplating the possibilities should she succeeded.

“Fuck it.” She sighed, standing abruptly and grabbing the notebook off the desk. She flipped to the final page, on which the ritual was described and looked at the things she was going to need. Like many older spells and rites, the Summoning required very little in the way of paraphernalia. One didn’t even have to use a wand, which was very helpful as hers had been destroyed in the fire, along with the rest of her possessions. All one needed were a few candles, an athame, and something that could serve as a connection between the Keeper and the person to be Summoned. Her hotel room had plenty of decorative candles and a lighter, the Book of Black was her connection to Sirius and she had an athame, though she’d not had the occasion to use it yet.

She’d found the small knife in a curio shop on Diagon Alley during her annual shopping trip before the start of her second year. The blade had called to her, just as Crookshanks had, and she’d purchased it without thought or question. Fortunately, her parents had been in the bookshop next door at the time and Hermione had found a lovely parchment holder to buy as well, so they’d never seen the athame. She had no idea what they would have made of it. In deference to the rules regarding the use of underage magic, she’d left her wand at home on the day of the attack. However, she’d hated the idea of being defenseless, so she’d had the athame in her bag.

Thinking of the athame made her think of her familiar. Crookshanks had made it out of the house and had, apparently, not been noticed by the Death Eaters. She’d found him waiting for her when she left the library and his presence and refusal to leave her side had badly unsettled several police officers. Fortunately, the Lambert was a “pet friendly” hotel and Crooks was currently snoozing in a nest he’d made for himself in the middle of the bed. Hermione hoped that someone would take care of him if….if….

It only took a few minutes to set up the ritual circle and to light the candles. After one last look at the notebook, Hermione picked up the Book of Black and her athame and drew in a deep breath.

“Here we go.” She muttered, then stepped into the circle.

**

Regulus Black had never given much thought to what happened when you died. As far as he was concerned, you were alive and then you weren’t. That was what happened, in the end. He was alive and then he wasn’t.

And then he was.

He blinked.

He blinked again. What he was seeing hadn’t changed.

He squeezed his eyes shut, counted to ten, then opened them. Still the same.

“Sirius?” He croaked, his voice raspy and weak. “Father? Uncle Cygnus?”

“What….where are we?” His father asked. “What’s happened?”

“We’ve been Summoned!” Cygnus said, wonderingly. “I don’t believe it, old Rigel was right!”

“Hermione?” Everyone turned to look at Sirius, who was, in turn, looking at a teenaged girl in a black dress. She looked just as dazed as Regulus felt and he watched in horror as her eyes rolled into the back of her head and her knees buckled. Sirius and Orion were closest to her and they managed to catch her before she hit the floor. In doing so, they disrupted what appeared to Regulus to be a ritual circle and all the candles blew out at once, leaving only the scent of smoke and lavender lingering in the air.

“Who are you and how do you know our Keeper?” Cygnus asked. Sirius shot him a glare.

“Not now, Uncle Cygnus.” He barked. As he and Orion gently put the girl in a chair, Regulus took the opportunity to look around.

“Where are we?” he asked.

“Don’t know.” Sirius said. “But I think we’re in some kind of Muggle hotel.” 

“How do you know what a Muggle hotel looks like?” Orion looked askance at his son.

“There are four of us.” Cygnus said, apropos of nothing. “Why are there four of us?”

“We’ll deal with all that in a minute.” Sirius said. “If I’m right…if we’re in a hotel…we need to keep quiet. We don’t want to attract attention to ourselves.”

“So?” Regulus shrugged. “Cast a Silencing Charm.”

“I don’t have my wand.” Orion admitted. “Do you?” To his horror, Regulus realized that he did not. The looks of chagrin on the faces of the others indicated that they didn’t have theirs either.

“What about her?” Regulus gestured to the unconscious girl. “Surely she has a wand.” He paused, staring at his brother. “She _is_ a witch, isn’t she?”

“Of course she’s a witch!” Sirius snapped. “But when I….left, she was only sixteen and the Ministry was taking a particularly hard line against underage magic users. She must have put the wand some place safe…or maybe she left it at home.”

“We need to make a plan.” Cygnus stated. “We’ve been Summoned by a Keeper and we’re bound to her and we’re apparently in a Muggle hotel for some reason and none of us had a wand…”

“The girl is unconscious.” Regulus added, rather needlessly.

“And looks to be that way for a while.” Orion said, studying her face carefully. “Unless I’m mistaken, she hasn’t been sleeping much.”

“In here.” Sirius said, gesturing to an open door. “Put her on the bed.”

“She’s dressed like a Muggle.” Cygnus frowned. “Why…?”

“Let’s get her settled first and then we’ll talk.” Sirius interrupted. This seemed like a sound plan, so Orion carefully picked the girl up and carried her into the bedroom. Sirius followed their father. Not knowing what else to do, Regulus and Cygnus started picking up the candles. Reg found a small athame and a copy of _Hogwarts: A History_ on the floor as well and placed those on the desk. His hand lingered over the book—it had always been one of his favorites—and, without thinking, he opened the cover. The pages were completely blank. With a frown, he turned a few more pages, but they were blank as well.

“The Ritual of Summoning requires something that symbolizes a connection between the Keeper and the person she Summons.” Cygnus had come over to stand next to him. “She probably got it from the Black library. You’re Regulus, aren’t you? Orion’s son?”

“Yes, Uncle.” Regulus really _looked_ at the man for the first time. He had been eight when his uncle had suddenly died, so wasn’t surprised at the lack of recognition.

“And that man in there…the one who knows our Keeper….that’s your brother, Sirius?”

“Yes, uncle.”

“Call me Cygnus.” The man ran a distracted hand through his hair. “Hmm….more of this than I remember.”

“You…you seem to know what’s happening to us.” Regulus said, hesitantly. “I mean…I was dead….”

“Let’s wait for the others.” Cygnus sighed. “I think we have a lot to talk about.”

Regulus nodded and looked around. They were in a sitting room, of sorts. The center of the room was taken up by four chairs surrounding a low table. A desk sat along one wall, while a tall cabinet sat along the other. With nothing better to do, Regulus opened the doors to the cabinet. The upper doors revealed some sort of Muggle device that was glass and metal and utterly confusing. The bottom doors revealed another door, which Regulus opened. He flinched at the sudden blast of cool air.

“Oh good, you’ve found the mini-bar.” Sirius said, nudging Reg out of the way and sticking his head into the cold box. He emerged, a moment later, with his arms full. “It’s not firewhiskey, but it’ll do in a pinch.” Regulus heard him mutter. He watched Sirius deposit an armful of absurdly small bottles on the table. Picking one of them up, he used a strange device to remove the cap, then dribbled some of its contents onto a handkerchief and handed the sodden cloth to his father. “Put this on the scratches. It’ll sting like hell, but it will clean the wounds until we can get them properly healed.”

“What happened?” Regulus asked, with alarm, noticing for the first time that his father’s hands were covered in blood.

“Hermione’s familiar thought that Father was taking liberties.” Sirius snickered.

“Bloody cats! I’ve always hated them.” Orion muttered.

“Right, then.” Cygnus seemed to have decided that it was his duty to take charge of the situation. “The first thing we need to do is take stock. Does anyone know what day it is?”

“There’s probably a newspaper around here, somewhere.” Sirius supplied. “Muggle hotels give the things away like candy.”

“Here!” Orion said, striding to a basket on the floor by the desk and pulling out a a folded copy of something called _The London Times_. He opened it up as Sirius and Regulus came to stand behind him. “It’s June 30….1996? Sweet Merlin….”

“Oh. Oh no…..” Sirius moaned. Regulus saw that he wasn’t looking at the date, but rather at a large, color photograph of a crowd of people, all dressed in black. In the foreground, Regulus was startled to see the girl who was now in the bedroom. His eyes strayed to the headline.

**_Funerals Held for Victims of Tragic House Fire_ **

Regulus looked from the newspaper headline to his stricken brother with confusion. 

“What is it?”

“This explains why she’s in a hotel.” Sirius said, grimly, as he plucked the newspaper out of their father’s hands. “Her parents are dead and her house was burned to the ground. Poor kid.”

“You know her.” Orion said, finally, after they had all taken a moment to digest this new information.

“Yes. And I am _very_ interested to hear how that came about.” Cygnus drawled from his seat. “However, I think we should take one thing at a time. Sirius, what’s this stuff on the table?”

“What? Oh, it’s booze, Uncle Cygnus.” Sirius said. Slowly, he tore his eyes away from the newspaper and walked to the table, picking up one of the small bottles. Cygnus eyed it warily. “It’s Muggle stuff, but good enough for our purposes.”

“Hmm.” Cygnus looked faintly disapproving, but didn’t object when Sirius picked the small tool up and opened his bottle.

“You’ll want to keep a clear head, son.” Orion warned.

“Relax, Father.” Sirius assured him. “This stuff isn’t any stronger than Butterbeer. Muggles had a pitifully low tolerance for alcohol.”

“All right.” Cygnus said, clearly wanting to head off a petty squabble. “We’re in June, 1996. I died in 1961….” He paused to calculate “thirty five years ago. Orion?”

“October, 1971.” His brother said, with a grimace “Just after Regulus started at Hogwarts.” He stared at his sons. “What happened to the two of you?”

“I died in March of 1980.” Regulus said, quietly. He wasn’t quite ready to admit to his father and uncle that he’d served the Dark Lord. He knew he’d have to at some point, but not tonight. He sent Sirius a beseeching look and, to his relief, his brother gave him a slight nod of understanding.

“I fell through the Veil about two weeks ago.” Sirius announced. They all stared at him in shock.

“You were _executed_?” Orion gasped.

“I said I _fell_ through the Veil, not that I was _pushed_.” Sirius gave his father a rather disappointed look. “I was fighting Bellatrix and….you know what?” He held up a hand as both his father and uncle made to interrupt. “I’d better start this from the beginning.”

“Yes, perhaps that’s best.” Cygnus’ lips were pursed in a firm line.

“Things got…bad after you died.” Sirius said, quietly, looking at his father. “I mean, _really_ bad. Mother went completely ‘round the twist. I….” Regulus noticed that his brother seemed to be unable to look at him. “I left when I was fifteen. Moved in with the Potters. Since they were technically relatives, there wasn’t anything Mother could do to get me back under her roof, so she disinherited me…”

“What?” Orion looked astonished. “But you were Head of House.”

“Mother would never let me claim the Ring.” Sirius said. “She got the Wizengamot to agree that she would act as my Regent until I came of age and then she disowned me in favor of Reg and got them to agree to the same deal.”

“The Wizengamot…” Cygnus’ eyes had gone wide and his face was flushed. “We’ll get back to that. Go on.”

“While I was at Hogwarts, Voldemort got strong… _really_ strong…”

“Voldemort….you mean Riddle? That lunatic Walburga worshipped?” Cygnus asked.

“That’s the one.” Sirius nodded. “Around the time that father died, he finally gained enough support to begin a real campaign against the Ministry. He went to Mother for financial backing and you know she just ate his dragon dung up with a spoon. By the time Reg and I were at Hogwarts, Voldie had started recruiting more followers among the younger generations. He got Bellatrix and….others. I don’t think Cissy ever took the Mark, but Mother arranged a match between her and Lucius Malfoy, whose father was part of Voldie’s inner circle. James Potter was deeply loyal to Albus Dumbledore and I let him talk me into joining the old man’s resistance.” He paused, looking vexed. 

“Oh, son….” Orion sighed.

“I know, Dad. I know.” Sirius looked shamefaced. “Anyway, in May of 1980, we learned that there was a prophecy about a child who had the potential to defeat Voldemort and that it could refer to James Potter’s then-unborn child. James and his wife, Lily, had to go into hiding. They let Dumbledore talk them into using the _Fidelius_ Charm.”

“And you were their Secret-Keeper.” Regulus surmised. Knowing how close Sirius had been to Potter, he couldn’t see anyone else doing the job.

“I wasn’t.” Sirius shook his head, sadly. “That’s what we wanted people to think. Peter Pettigrew was the Secret Keeper.”

“Pettigrew? But he was a….” Reg stopped himself before he gave too much away.

“Yeah.” Sirius nodded. “He was a Death Eater. I don’t know when he told his master where to find James and Lily, but Voldy waited until Halloween of ’81 to go after them. He got James and Lily, but their son, Harry, survived somehow. No one’s really quite sure what happened, but we do know that Voldie cast a Killing Curse at Harry and that it….” He shrugged. “Well, it didn’t work.”

“What?” Orion arched a skeptical eyebrow. “Sirius, now is _not_ the time for one of your insane stories.”

“It isn’t _my_ insane story, I assure you.” Sirius told him. “There were no living witnesses above the age of two, so we’ve all had to go by what the Unspeakables found after the fact. Voldemort cast three Killing Curses that night. One hit James, one hit Lily, and the third one never hit the wall or the cot or anything else, so must have hit Harry. There was some kind of magical discharge and Voldemort’s soul or spirit or whatever was dislodged from his body. All they found were his robes and his wand.”

“This is all very interesting.” Cygnus said, with a growl. “But what does it have to do with _you_?”

“I arrived just after it….after it happened. After I thought Harry was safe, I went after Pettigrew. He outsmarted me, I’m ashamed to admit, and because everyone _believed_ our ruse about me being the Secret Keeper, I ended up in Azkaban for twelve years—without ever seeing the inside of a Courtroom or tasting a drop of Veritaserum, mind you…”

“Sweet Merlin.” Orion moaned.

“I escaped when I realized that Pettigrew had found a way to get close to Harry. I had to protect him….he’s my godson.” Sirius drew in a deep breath. “Anyway, I spent the better part of two years running from the Ministry and then from Voldie and his Death Eaters….”

“You said he was _dead_.” Regulus protested.

“What are Death Eaters?” Cygnus asked at the same time.

“I said he was disembodied, not that he was _dead_.” Sirius corrected his brother. “Pettigrew managed to find his spirit and shove it back into a body about a year ago. And Death Eaters are what his followers call themselves.”

“Stupid name.” Cygnus grumbled. Sirius snorted in amusement.

“You were saying, Sirius?” Orion cleared his throat noisily.

“Right.” Sirius paused, clearly trying to remember where he’d left off. “I spent two years on the run, the last one stuck in the Grim Old Place.”

“Mother let you back in?” Regulus was astonished.

“Mother died about a month after you did. She had the place under a some kind of very high-powered Forgetfulness charm. Since the Ministry never remembered the place existed, they never put it on lockdown and the Old Magics allowed me to gain entry. Anyway,” he went on, at his uncle’s impatient gesture. “For reasons that are too complicated to go into right now, Harry ended up in the Department of Mysteries with some of his friends, Hermione included. They thought they were coming to rescue me, but it was an ambush set up by Voldie. A group of us rode in to the rescue and I got into a fire-fight with Bellatrix at the worst possible place….right in front of the Veil.”

“Oh my…..” Regulus watched as his father scrubbed his face with his hands, a gesture he remembered from his childhood. His father had only ever done that when he was having difficulty believing or processing what he’d been told.

“And how, exactly, do you know our Keeper?” Cygnus asked, leaning forward with a look of intensity Regulus could never remember seeing on his face before.

“You mean Hermione?” Sirius’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “She’s Harry’s best friend. She helped him save my life two years ago and spent most of last summer at the Grim Old Place with us and the Weasleys. Why do you keep calling her ‘our Keeper’?”

It was their uncle’s turn to sigh. “Orion, when you claimed the Ring, did you read the journals?”

“I….er….never claimed the Ring.” Orion admitted, softly. “I knew what the oaths entailed and that Walburga would never let me abide by them, so I arranged with the goblins that the Head vault would remain dormant until my death.”

“And Walburga prevented Sirius from claiming it, as well.” Cygnus sighed. “Very well. I suppose that will make things a bit less complicated. You youngsters may not know this, but there is a vault at Gringotts that is only accessible to the Head of the Black family. It is small and contains only a few items: the Head of House Ring, the key to the family Ward-stone, and a collection of journals written by our several times great-grandfather Rigel. Rigel became Head of the family in the 1750’s. At some point in the 1770’s, he had occasion to look into a Mirror of Prophecy.”

“Those are dangerous.” Orion murmured.

“I didn’t know any of those old Mirrors still existed.” Regulus said, wide-eyed.

“I know about at least one other.” Sirius muttered.

“Rigel was aware of the inherent temptations of such a mirror, but what he saw in it terrified him. He saw our House fall into Darkness. He saw the end of our line. In short, he saw _us_.” Cygnus gestured to the four of them. “He also saw the birth of our Keeper. He could not do anything to prevent our family’s fall, but he did make some preparations to aid us in our resurrection. He also explained, to the best of his understanding, what a Keeper is, what she can do for us and what we must do for her.”

“Are you going to share this information with the rest of us or must we get down on our knees and beg?” Cygnus shot his brother a dirty look before continuing. 

“A Keeper is Magic’s gift to a Fallen House. If she chooses, she can bring one member of that house back from the Great Beyond. Both she and that person are charged by Magic with the task of reviving his House and purifying the Family Magics. As far as Rigel could tell, there have been five Keepers in Britain, though they have also appeared from time to time in other countries. The last British Keeper emigrated to the North American colonies and Rigel was able to carry on a correspondence with her before her death. While she would not divulge too many details, he did learn some things that will be useful to us.”

“Did he say what House she was responsible for reviving?” Regulus had always been a history buff and details like this fascinated him.

“It was the House of Prince.” Cygnus replied. Sirius, who had been taking a swig from one of the bottles, choked and began to sputter. “Sirius?”

“Sorry…..sorry.” He gasped, brushing ineffectively at the spilled alcohol on his shirt. “I cannot _wait_ to see the look on Snivellus’ face when he finds out!”

“You mean Severus Snape?” Regulus was confused. “What does he have….”

“His mother was Eileen Prince.” Sirius explained. “The line isn’t dead, but it’s….well, let’s just say that they might have need of another Keeper someday.”

“As interesting as that is,” Orion drawled “I’d rather focus on _our_ Keeper. You were saying, Cygnus?”

“Yes, well, once the Keeper has Summoned someone from the Great Beyond, it is her responsibility to see to it that they do their duty to Magic. She and the Summoned wizard are bound together for this purpose. She is his Guide, his Protector, and his Guardian.”

Sirius whistled. “Is that all?”

“Wait.” Orion looked perplexed. “You said a Keeper brings back _a_ member of a fallen House. There are four of us.”

“I don’t understand it either.” Cygnus admitted. “All the Keepers Rigel knew about only Summoned one person, but he did theorize that a witch’s ability to Summon someone from beyond the veil was connected to the amount of power she wields. Perhaps, if our Keeper is exceptionally strong, that could account for multiple souls being brought back.”

“I can’t say as I’ve seen Hermione do too much magic.” Sirius said, slowly “but she managed to hold her own against a number of fully trained adult witches and wizards who were casting some right nasty spells at the DoM a few weeks ago.”

“You said that the Keeper is bound to the person….er…people she Summons.” Regulus had a strange feeling he wasn’t going to like what was coming next. “Bound how?”

“Rigel says that the Prince Keeper refused to tell him.” Cygnus said. “The other accounts are also almost completely silent on the matter. All any of them would say is that the bod is quite magically powerful and that it can be both a boon and a curse to both parties. Also…” He paused and Regulus saw that his face had gone quite red. “we cannot further our line with anyone else.”

“What do you mean?” Regulus asked.

“He means that if there are going to be any more little Blacks, Hermione will have to be their mother and one of us will have to be…Mother of Merlin!” Sirius groaned. “She’s going to kill us!”

“What? Why do you say that?” Both Cygnus and Orion looked as shocked as Regulus felt.

“Hermione’s a Muggleborn.” Sirius said.

As one, Cygnus, Orion, and Regulus each reached for one of the little bottles of alcohol.

**

Sirius listened to the others whinge as he opened bottles for them, hoping that once they got it out of their system, they’d start thinking rationally. After ten minutes, it became clear that this wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

“Enough!” He snarled, slamming his hand on the table for emphasis. Mindful of the fact that there were no Silencing Charms on the room, he kept his voice low, but did his best to put as much power behind his words as possible. “Listen, I know you lot have never had much use for the Muggleborns…”

“That’s not fair, Sirius.” His father objected. “We never supported Voldemort or his aims….” Sirius noted Regulus flinching, but decided that now was not the time to bring _that_ up.

“No, you didn’t.” He agreed. “But you always assumed we were better than they were because we were _Blacks_. I remember hearing you complain to your friends about the fact that the Muggleborns never showed you the proper respect and you….” He pointed to Cygnus “told Andi’s husband that he wasn’t a ‘proper’ wizard because he didn’t follow Quidditch.”

“It was a joke.” Cygnus protested, weakly.

“It may have been, but it speaks to a broader attitude.” Sirius shrugged. “I can guarantee you that Hermione will _not_ appreciate that particular type of humor.” He took a deep breath, knowing how important it was that he make them understand. “Father, you just spent the past ten minutes swearing up and down that it was _inconceivable_ that a Muggleborn should have performed one of the Old Rites and yet….” Sirius waved a hand in a gesture that was meant to encompass the four of them and their surroundings. “Here we are. _You_ …” he pointed at Cygnus “kept going on and on about how a Muggleborn could _never_ restore the House of Black. Do you really think Magic would have permitted Hermione to become our Keeper if she was doomed to failure from the start?” He held his uncle’s gaze for a moment, before Cygnus broke the deadlock, looking deeply ashamed.

“But Sirius,” Reg said “She never going to understand what it means to be magically bound to four people. That type of thing is rare enough in our society, but I doubt the Muggles have ever heard of such a thing.”

“So, we’ll have to explain it to her.” Sirius said, holding on to every ounce of patience he possessed. “She’s a sixteen-year old Muggleborn witch whose only experience of the wizarding world has been Hogwarts and the occasional trip to Hogsmeade and Diagon Alley. The only adult wizards she knows well, aside from me, are her professors and Arthur and Molly Weasley. It is true that Hermione is sheltered and ignorant of most aspects of magical life, but she is _not_ stupid. In fact, I’d say she is the single smartest person I know.”

“Even smarter than James Potter?” Sirius frowned at the note of jealousy in his little brother’s voice, but chose to ignore it. For now.

“James was a bloody imbecile compared to Hermione.” He said, simply. “The only person I’ve ever met who could compete with Hermione in terms of brains is Lily Evans—another Muggleborn—and I believe Hermione may be a bit more open-minded than she was. Although…” he chuckled as one particular memory floated to the surface of his mind. “you’ll want to be careful about what you say about House Elves around her.”

“What? Why?” The questions poured in from all sides.

“I’m afraid that Hermione’s only ever seen wizard-elf relations at their worst.” Sirius explained. “The first time she saw a House-elf, the poor creature was being given clothes by its master for no good reason and then…well, Kreacher is still at the Grim Old Place and I wasn’t particularly nice to him….and vice versa.”

“Please tell me she doesn’t want to free the little beasts.” Regulus moaned. “There was a Hufflepuff in my year who actually started a club…..”

“Hermione had badges and a manifesto.” Sirius snickered, then became sober again. “I’m afraid I was pants at explaining the way wizard/elf relations are supposed to be and the Weasleys don’t have an elf so they couldn’t explain it properly either.”

“Does she follow Dumbledore?” Cygnus asked, suddenly. “Does she _believe_ in his cause?”

“I’m not certain.” Sirius admitted. “I think Dumbledore might have wanted to recruit her, but due to extenuating circumstances, he hasn’t tried to give her the hard sell yet. She’s Harry’s best friend.”

“Harry….Harry Potter?” Orion’s eyes narrowed. “You said that there was a prophecy about him.”

“Yes.” Sirius nodded. “I don’t know what it is, exactly, but Dumbledore does. While I was under house arrest—at _his_ suggestion, I might add—I had a lot of time to think about the things the old man’s done where Harry is concerned and I think he’s decided that it is his responsibility to ‘help’ the Prophecy along, making sure that everything comes out the way he wants it. I believe that Albus is priming Harry to sacrifice himself for the so-called ‘Greater Good.’ He’s planned out most of Harry’s life—which has been absolutely horrific, by the way, but I think Harry’s friendship with Hermione was rather a surprise. They became friends under rather unusual circumstances; circumstances I don’t think even Dumbledore could have planned for. However, Hermione’s useful to the old man, so he’s adapted his plans to incorporate her presence in Harry’s life. As I said, Hermione’s brilliant and she’s not shy about asking questions. If Dumbledore were to give her the hard sell about Light and Dark magic, she might start to question his actions with regards to Harry and he can’t afford that.”

“What about the book?” Regulus said, suddenly. “Would that tell us anything about her?”

“What book?” Sirius and Orion asked at the same time.

“There was a book in the ritual circle.” Cygnus explained. “We think it’s what our Keeper used as a focus for the Summoning. It’s an old copy of _Hogwarts: A History_.” Sirius felt his heart leap.

“Really? Where is it?”

“On the desk.” Regulus waved a hand in its general direction. “But it’s blank.”

“No, it isn’t.” Sirius crowed, as he sprang out of the chair and strode to the desk. He found the book in question, along with two notebooks. He grabbed them all, returning to his chair. “The text is hidden under a Concealment charm that can only be lifted with a password.”

“What are those?” Orion asked, gesturing to the notebooks.

“They’re called notebooks and, as far as I am concerned, they are proof that Muggles are a _hell_ of a lot smarter than we give them credit for being. This,” he held up the book “is a copy of the Book of Black that I gave to Hermione last summer. Oh, don’t look at me like that!” He snapped, as Cygnus glared at him. “It’s not one of our copies. Remus and I made a copy….”

“Remus? Remus Lupin?” Regulus said, aghast. “The _werewolf_?”

“You _made_ a copy of the Book of Black?” Orion said, at the same time.

“Yes and yes.” Sirius shot his brother a scathing look. Picking up the notebooks, he handed one to Cygnus and one to Regulus. “See what Hermione was working on, will you? I’m going to see what our little witch was reading in this.” He tapped the book in hi slap.

**

After only a few minutes of silence, Cygnus saw Sirius hand the book to his father, along with some parchment and a Self-Inking quill he’d found somewhere. They had a hushed conversation and then Orion went to the desk, while Sirius began looking around the room for something. He seemed to find what he wanted in a small bag that was sitting on a table near the door. From within the bag, Sirius withdrew some pieces of paper. Then, after looking at himself in the mirror, he left the room entirely.

“Sirius went to find us some food.” Orion explained when Cygnus shot him an inquisitive glance. “He said it might take a while, so we should just get on with things.” Cygnus nodded in agreement, though he did wonder how Sirius expected to be able to get anything without a wand or Galleons. With a shrug, he returned his attention to the notebook

About an hour later, he set the notebook down, convinced that Sirius had, if anything, underestimated their Keeper’s intelligence. Regulus was still reading his notebook, his brow furrowed in concentration, but Orion was prowling around the room restlessly. Catching his brother’s eye, he gestured to a clear space near the window, where they could talk without disturbing Regulus or the sleeping girl.

“Well?” Orion asked.

“The notebook Sirius gave me contains all our Keeper’s research on the Ritual of Summoning. It is…quite impressive. She didn’t have access to the Prince correspondence, of course, but she did find at least one source that Rigel didn’t mention.” Orion looked somewhat disturbed.

“Sirius asked me to look into what she’s been reading in the Book.” He said. “Apparently, he and his friend managed to get it to access not only the Black libraries, but the _Daily Prophet_ archives. She didn’t use the book much until about four days ago, when she suddenly began looking into back issues of the paper. She also did a lot of reading about wizarding laws—particularly those that pertain to orphans. Frankly, I can’t see any rhyme or reason to it, but…”

“I can.” Regulus announced. Cygnus started guiltily as he realized that they had probably been talking loud enough to disturb his nephew. “Apparently, our Keeper has kept a record of all the things that have happened to her since she met this ‘Harry Potter’ person. If Sirius hadn’t told us what happened to him, I’m not sure I would believe any of it….hell, I’m still not sure I believe any of it. But our Keeper seems to have come to the same conclusion that Sirius did…that Dumbledore is behind everything. If she is as close to Harry Potter as Sirius says, then she may be trying to find some way to extricate him from whatever the old man is planning.” Cygnus stared out the window, thoughts racing.

“We can’t do much until Sirius gets back.” He said, finally. “Reg, give your father your notebook and you take this one.” He handed the notebook he’d been reading to his nephew. “I think it best if we hold off on discussing things until everyone has had a chance to read through these.”

Over the next three hours, Cygnus made his way through the second notebook and a good portion of the last year’s _Daily Prophet_ , becoming more and more disturbed as he went on. By the time the sky outside began to darken, Orion had fallen asleep on the couch and Regulus had picked up the parchment his father had discarded and started making notes of his own.

Cygnus only realized that Sirius had returned when a cup of fragrant tea was waved under his nose.

“There’s a tea and sandwich shop around the corner.” Sirius announced. “I got us enough food for tonight and tomorrow morning.”

“That took you all afternoon?” Regulus gave a disdainful snort. “Muggles!”

“Actually, _that_ only took me about ten minutes and it only took _that_ long because they make their tea fresh.” Sirius snapped. “I’ve been all over the place this afternoon, gathering information and supplies.” He pulled a wand out of the sleeve of his coat and began unshrinking bags and parcels as he pulled them out of his pockets.

“You went to Diagon Alley?” Orion’s eyebrows were nearly at his hairline. “I thought you said…”

“Peace, father.” Sirius held up a hand. “No, I did not go to Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. There are a number of magical shops and pubs hidden in Muggle towns and cities all over Britain. Plus, I have a rather good disguise.” He grinned again and Cygnus could tell he was waiting for someone to ask about it.

“And what might be?” he asked, not bothering to hide his exasperation with such childish behavior. His irritation vanished as his nephew suddenly disappeared and was replaced by a large, black dog. There was a moment of silence as Sirius regained his human form and took a sip of his own tea, a smug expression on his face.

“You’re an Animagus.” Orion whispered. 

“That was _you_!” Regulus looked horrified. “ _You_ were the dog that widdled on my shoe in my third year!”

“After you and your so-called ‘friends’ hexed that poor ‘Puff firstie so bad she ended up in the hospital wing.” Sirius replied, stiffly. “I wouldn’t let James prank you, but that couldn’t go unanswered.” Regulus flushed, though Cygnus couldn’t tell whether it was from shame or anger. There was clearly some unspoken tension between the boys that was going to need to be addressed, but other things took more immediate priority.

“Sirius, if someone from the Ministry had seen you…”

“They wouldn’t have recognized me.” Sirius said with confidence. “Even if someone who knows I’m an Animagus had seen me, there’d be no proof. I’m not registered with the Ministry.” Orion groaned and pinched the bridge of his nose. Cygnus could sympathize, but he could also understand the advantage his nephew’s disregard for the law gave them in this situation.

“What did you find out?” he asked. Sirius’ smile disappeared as quickly as it had come.

“Things are a mess. After Voldemort was resurrected last year, the Minister of Magic—a complete nitwit by the name of Fudge—did everything possible to deny his return and to discredit Harry—who was the only living witness. You remember that I said that Harry and his friends were led into a trap at the Department of Mysteries a couple of weeks ago?” They all nodded. “Well, Voldemort’s forces were led by Lucius Malfoy.”

“Narcissa’s husband?” Cygnus felt his blood run cold.

“Yes.” Sirius nodded. “He’s Voldemort’s primary financial backer and, from what I heard, he spent most of his fortune on bribes to the Minister last year. We think he’s been paying Fudge to look the other way, to give Voldemort time to build up his power base. Anyway, the Death Eaters at the Ministry weren’t expecting Harry to bring anyone with him and they _certainly_ weren’t expecting to deal with a bunch of competent fighters. Things got out of hand and Voldie decided to personally intervene. Unfortunately for him, so did Dumbledore and the two apparently engaged in a rather epic duel in the Atrium—in front of Fudge, Amelia Bones, half of the Auror Corps, and several members of the press.”

“Amelia Bones….” Regulus looked thoughtful. “That name sounds familiar.”

“Her younger brother, Edgar, was Head Boy the year you started at Hogwarts.” Sirius supplied. “She’s Director of the DMLE now and we’ll want to approach her as soon as possible.”

“Why do you say that?” Cygnus asked, frowning. He didn’t know his nephew at all, but he had the strong sense that the young man wasn’t particularly astute when it came to politics. However, having only been gone for two weeks, he was also clearly the most knowledgeable about current events and those who were shaping them.

“Two reasons.” Sirius said, sipping his tea and stretching his long legs out in front of him. “First, she’s one of the few honest people in the Ministry who isn’t beholden to either the Death Eaters or Dumbledore. Second, she’s from a family that sticks to the Old Ways. I don’t know what things were like in your day, but now….” He paused, frowning. “most people will equate the Summoning Ritual with Necromancy and act accordingly.” Everyone grimaced.

“So, it would be wise to ask this Bones woman to speak on our behalf.” Cygnus murmured.

“I think so.” Sirius nodded. “I also think we should contact her sooner, rather than later. I gather that Fudge is more than likely to be chucked out on his arse at the next Wizengamot meeting and Amelia’s name is already at the top of the very short list of possible replacements.”

“Which will make her a target for both Voldemort and Dumbledore.” Cygnus nodded. He closed his eyes and reviewed everything he’d learned that afternoon. “Sirius, what is the relationship between our Keeper and your godson?”

“Hermione and Harry?” Sirius looked genuinely surprised by the question. “Well, I never asked, but I’ve always thought they treated each other like siblings. Hermione’s the bossy older sister who gets exasperated by all the messes Harry gets into, but stands by him through thick and thin—whether he likes it or not—and Harry’s the bemused younger brother who lets Hermione lead him around by the nose and will protect and defend her with his dying breath.” Cygnus blinked. That was certainly not the answer he was expecting.

“So they’re not…er…romantically involved? With each other?” Orion sounded just an awkward teenager navigating his first crush. It made Cygnus want to laugh, but he restrained himself. His younger brother had never had much self-confidence and he wasn’t about to damage what little there was.

“No.” Sirius shook his head, emphatically. “Last I heard, Harry was chasing after some Ravenclaw skirt who was sending all kinds of mixed signals.”

“That’s a relief.” Orion murmured. Cygnus shot his brother a sharp look. Orion had always had a rather romantic nature, which he’d been forced to ruthlessly suppress once their father had shackled him that madwoman. He worried that Orion might see his bond with their Keeper as a chance to grab the happiness he’d never known. Cygnus did not relish the idea of picking up the pieces of his brother’s shattered heart when their Keeper fell off the pedestal Orion had clearly already built for her.

“They may not be lovesick teenagers,” he said “but their closeness does present us with some difficulties.” He saw the angry look on Sirius’ face and hastened to continue. “I am not saying anything against your godson, Sirius, but it is clear that he is a target for Voldemort and his forces. By virtue of their friendship, so is our Keeper. And this….” He indicated the notebook on the table “leads me to believe that she is also preparing to set herself against Dumbledore.”

“What?” Sirius sat up straight. “What did I miss?” Cygnus quickly outlined the contents of the notebook and Sirius flipped through it, scanning some of the pages closely. When he was finished, he tossed it back onto the table, a large grin on his face.

“Clever girl.” He murmured. “I knew she’d figure out his game, sooner or later.”

“Yes, well, I think she’s done a bit more than that.” Cygnus said, quietly. “I think she tried the Ritual of Summoning with the intention of bringing you back so that you could claim custody of Harry.” Orion was the first to put the pieces together.

“The books on Wizarding law.” He breathed. Cygnus nodded.

“Just before she started studying the Ritual of Summoning, our Keeper was researching Wizarding law as it applies to orphans of magical parents.” He explained to a perplexed Sirius. “Your godson must truly matter a great deal to her if she was willing to risk her life like that for him.”

“That will have to stop, of course.” Regulus said. Although he clearly hadn’t intended to be heard by the others, he was. They all turned to stare at him.

“What do you mean, Regulus?” Orion asked.

“Well, she’s _our_ Keeper, isn’t she? It’s her job to restore the House of Black and bear our Heirs, not fight some stranger’s wars for him.”

“Sirius!” Orion dove across the table and interposed himself between his sons, pushing his eldest back into his chair. Turning to Regulus, he scowled. “That was not well done, Regulus. Our Keeper is not our _slave_. If anything, we are _hers_. If she chooses to involve herself in these matters, who are we to say her nay?”

“Your father is right, Regulus.” Cygnus said as he saw the boy’s mouth open in protest. “What is more, none of us—including our Keeper—may have much choice in the matter. If the Potter boy is destined to destroy this Voldemort character….” 

“Let the Dark Lord have him.” Regulus snarled. “I’m telling you now, I will _not_ raise a wand to help James Potter’s brat….” Fortunately, Orion was still standing between his sons. Grabbing the wand from Sirius, he cast modified Body Binds on both of his sons. They could not move, but they could still speak. As an afterthought, he also cast a Silencing charm on the room.

“All right, boys.” Cygnus stared from one to the other, aghast at their behavior. “What is going on here?”

“Regulus is acting like a jealous git, is what’s happening.” Sirius snarled. Cygnus was dismayed to see that Regulus was actually pouting.

“Start at the beginning.” Orion sighed, sitting down again.

“When I went to Hogwarts, I made _friends_.” Sirius said. “Ickle Reggie didn’t like that.”

“As soon as you met up with Potter and the werewolf, you couldn’t be bothered to talk to or about anyone else.” Reg spit. “We…. _I_ wasn’t good enough for you anymore. You never came home for the holidays…”

“Because Mother was a bloody terror who had her house elf beat me for no damn reason!” Sirius interjected. Both Orion and Cygnus winced at this. 

“Did she do that to you, too, Regulus?” Orion asked. Regulus couldn’t move his head, but if he could, Cygnus suspected he would have looked down at his feet.

“No, sir.” He muttered.

“No. Regulus was the good child, the one who could do no wrong.” Sirius sounded incredibly bitter. “Anyway, when Reg finally got to Hogwarts, he was sorted into Slytherin and took up with a crowd of pureblood fanatics, including Snivellus Snape.”

“I had to make my own friends, didn’t I? You were too busy playing stupid tricks with your Marooners….”

“Marauders.” Sirius corrected, automatically. “I was in my fifth year and in Gryffindor. What did you expect me to do? We didn’t have any classes together, you weren’t interested in Quidditch….” He took a deep breath. “Anyway, I…..well, I did something stupid that year and nearly got Snivellus killed.”

“You tried to feed him to a werewolf!” Regulus said. Cygnus felt as though he was witnessing some sort of combat. Both of Orion’s sons seemed determined to draw as much blood as possible, even though they weren’t touching one another.

“Severus Snape knew exactly what Remus Lupin was when he went looking for him.” Sirius snarled. “I admit, telling him where he could _find_ Lupin at the full moon wasn’t my brightest idea, but James saved him and no real harm was done.”

“Says you.” Regulus snorted. “You weren’t even punished.”

“Oh, yes I was.” Sirius said, darkly. “I was banned from the Quidditch team for the year and McGonagall had me in detention for _months_. What’s more, old Twycross was furious that Dumbledore didn’t expel Remus, so she told Mother. I’m sure you remember what happened when we went home for Christmas that year.” Regulus was silent.

“Enlighten us.” Orion said.

“You remember Rattigar LeStrange, don’t you?” Sirius asked. Orion nodded, slowly, though the name wasn’t familiar to Cygnus. “The day after we got home, Mother locked me in a room with him for an hour _without_ my wand.” Orion gasped and turned a delicate shade of green. “She informed me that my punishment was to be repeated every day for the remainder of the holiday. I bolted that night. To this day, I still don’t know why Mother never forced the Potters to give me up or said anything to anyone else about Remus.”

“McGonagall showed up about an hour after you left.” Regulus said, quietly. “Mother refused to tell me what she said, but she was scared witless.”

“Huh. I suppose that explains why McGonagall was suddenly Deputy Head when we got back to school.”

“Is that all?” Cygnus asked, deciding that it was best to get it all out in the open now. There was a moment of silence before Regulus spoke.

“No.” He sighed. “After Sirius left home, I….well, I did everything I could to please Mother. Voldemort wouldn’t take her, since she had Grindelwald’s mark, so…..she told me to serve him in her stead.”

“Oh, Regulus.” Orion moaned. Cygnus saw a lone tear roll down Regulus’ face. 

“Please….please don’t hate me, Father.” He sobbed. “I…. I found out pretty quickly that Voldemort wasn’t what Mother said he was…what she _thought_ he was. He only wanted me so he could access the Black Library. And since I wasn’t Head of the Family and couldn’t claim the ring until my seventeenth birthday, I couldn’t give it to him. And then….and then….” The boy began to hiccup and became incoherent.

“I….I don’t hate you, Regulus.” Orion said, sounding very, very tired. With a wave of the wand, he unfroze both of his sons. To Cygnus’ surprise, Sirius leaned over and put a supportive hand on Regulus’ shoulder.

“And then what, Reg?” His voice was soft and comforting. Regulus drew in a deep, ragged breath.

“Then I found out what he really is.” Regulus’ words were full of venom again, but this time it seemed to be directed at Voldemort and not his family. “Voldemort….or, I guess Riddle, if that’s his real name, practices Profane magic.” There was a collective intake of breath.

“What do you mean, Regulus.” Cygnus asked, carefully.

“You know about the Horcruxes.” Sirius whispered. Regulus didn’t seem to hear Cygnus and focused, instead on his brother.

“You know about those? How?”

“Lucius Malfoy had one.” Sirius said. He pointed to the notebook. “Hermione talked about the basilisk, didn’t she? Did she mention the diary?”

“Ah.” Regulus nodded in understanding.

“Excuse me, but what is a horcrux?” Cygnus asked, mystified at the sudden turn the conversation had taken.

“Think of it as a Necromantic vessel.” Regulus said. “Only instead of housing someone else’s soul, you use it to house a piece of your own.”

“You’re saying Voldemort cut off a piece of his soul? _Deliberately?”_

“How would one even go about doing that?” Orion asked.

“Why would anyone want to?” Cygnus spoke at the same time. This time, it was Sirius who answered the question.

“I don’t know exactly how it’s done, nor do I want to.” He shuddered. “All I know is that a ritual sacrifice is involved. A human sacrifice. As to why Riddle made them….because we know there’s more than one….a Horcrux grants the maker a form of immortality. The Horcruxes are the reason Riddle’s spirit didn’t move on to Hell the way it should have when his body was destroyed.”

“He gave the diary to Lucius and the cup to Bellatrix and the locket to Avery.” Regulus said. “I got the locket from Avery and hid it in Grimmauld Place. As far as I know, Riddle never found out. I planned to destroy it, but on my seventeenth birthday, Mother had me put on the Head of House ring. It….it didn’t accept me. Bellatrix was there and she told Voldemort. He was so angry…. I died that night.”

“It seems,” Cygnus had to cleared his throat several times before he could speak “that, whatever else we may choose to do, we will need to deal with Voldemort. He poses a clear threat to our family and, through her association with Harry Potter, our Keeper.”

“Voldemort would go after her even if she wasn’t Harry’s best friend.” Sirius said, quietly. “She’s a Muggleborn and absolutely brilliant. She’s been top of her year every year at Hogwarts, and that includes her second year when she spent nearly two months as a statue.”

“Fair enough.” Regulus conceded. “But she cannot be allowed to antagonize Albus Dumbledore for the sake of _your_ godson.” He threw his brother a challenging look. Orion tensed, but Sirius just laughed.

“Reg, old boy, please warn me before you say that to her. I want to be sure to be out of the line of fire.”

“I will also add that ridding the world of Albus Dumbledore and his prejudices will go a long way towards helping us to purify the Family Magics.” Cygnus said. Sighing, he looked at the other three. “I think that we must all agree to leave the past in the past as much as possible. Sirius, I understand that you still have connections to people here, including your godson, but you must remember that your first duty is to our Keeper and your second is to our Family Magic. Nothing can come before those things.” Sirius nodded. “Regulus….” Cygnus paused, not quite certain how to say what he wanted to say next.

“It is time for you to grow up.” Orion said, bluntly. “Son, it sounds to me as if you expected to always be the sole object of Sirius’ affection and you grew jealous when he went to school and started making a life for himself that didn’t revolve around you. Is that true?” Slowly, Regulus nodded. 

“And did you attempt to make a life for yourself or did you merely follow the path your mother set for you? Did you make friends of your own? Did you work towards any kind of career?” Regulus didn’t need to speak. The shame and guilt were plain on his face.

“Son,” Orion said, gently. “I know that your mother hurt you. It might not have been in the same way as she hurt Sirius, but she hurt you. You….neither of you….can know how deeply I regret not being there to support and protect you, but as Cygnus said, it is all in the past now. We have a chance to live our lives as free men; as better men, but we must all let go of our anger and bitterness. Regulus, you will need to live your own life and allow your brother to live his. Our Keeper…she has friends and family, too. You will need to learn to accept them, just as we are asking her to accept us. You…we _all_ ….are going to need to learn how to share our Keeper’s regard and affection, should we be lucky enough to earn them.” Sirius opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, for which Cygnus was entirely grateful. “Can you do that, Regulus?” 

“I…I’ll try.” Regulus said, finally. It wasn’t quite the ringing affirmation Cygnus wanted to hear, but he supposed it would have to do for now.

“Cygnus, you said that Rigel made preparations for us.” Sirius said, after a moment of awkward silence. “What were those?” Cygnus sighed with relief, happy they were back on safer ground. They spent the next hour devouring the food Sirius had bought, while he described the precautions Rigel had taken to protect the Black family legacy in the event the line should die out.

“What do we do first?” Regulus asked. “I mean, we can’t just stroll into Gringotts and reactivate our accounts.”

“And if we show up at the Ministry, we’re more than likely to be cursed into sub-atomic particles before anyone thinks to ask any questions.” Sirius added.

“You mentioned Amelia Bones.” Cygnus said, chewing thoughtfully. Sirius had gotten something called falafel which was strange on his tongue, but oddly pleasing. “Could we approach her?”

“That would be our best move, I think.” Sirius said. “The problem is that she thinks I’m dead. I can hardly explain all of this….” He gestured at the four of them “in a letter.”

“What about our Keeper?” Regulus asked. “Do you think Madam Bones might be willing to meet with her?”

“Possibly.” Sirius gave his brother an approving look. “Good idea, Reg. We’ll have to ask her in the morning.”

**

**INTERLUDES**

Author’s Notes –

The events of this chapter happen concurrently with those of Chapter 1. 

For the purposes of this story, I have changed Draco Malfoy’s birthday from June 5 to July 5.

To clarify ages, Bellatrix is eight years older than Andromeda, who is five years older than Narcissa. Narcissa is a year older than Sirius.

**The Ministry of Magic**

**June 27, 1996**

Percy Weasley had never been more miserable in his life. He’d been there the night Harry Potter and five others—including his brother and sister—had gone to the Department of Mysteries. He’d stumbled through the Floo just behind Minister Fudge and seen for himself that You-Know-Who was back and that some of the Minister’s most prominent supporters were wearing Death Eater robes and masks. Everything that Harry Potter and Dumbledore had been saying for the last year was true. Percy had chosen the wrong side of this particular fight and now, he was going to have to suffer the consequences.

There had been absolute chaos at the Ministry for the past few days. Everyone knew that the Wizengamot was going to chuck Fudge out on his arse at its next meeting and that, as soon as he was no longer Minister, Amelia Bones was going to lock him In a Ministry holding cell and throw away the key. Percy had caught a glimpse of the list of charges that she was preparing to file and it was both too long and too accurate to warrant anything other than a lengthy stay in Azkaban for Percy’s one-time hero. The Minister, meanwhile, had locked himself in his office with only Dolores Umbridge for company. Rumor had it that he was sleeping there, too afraid to leave lest he be arrested. 

While Percy was certain that he had not committed any illegal activities (and had the records to prove it), he was equally sure that, once Fudge was out of office, his career at the Ministry was over. Everyone at the Ministry seemed convinced that Amelia Bones was a shoo-in to replace Fudge and Percy knew well enough that she thought him nothing more than a toadying sycophant. He sighed. She wasn’t wrong. Over the past few days, he’d taken some time to make use of the Minister’s pensieve to view his memories of his recent behavior and he’d come away from the experience deeply ashamed. He could see, now, that his father had been absolutely correct—Fudge had played upon his ambition as easily as if he had been a master violinist performing in concert on his favorite instrument. Percy knew he’d acted disgracefully, but he had no idea how to even begin to repair the damage he’d done to his life.

“Ah, Auror Yaxley. Just the person I was looking for.” Percy kept his head down, praying that he wouldn’t be noticed by the Minister’s Senior Undersecretary. Since the disaster at the Department of Mysteries, Dolores Umbridge had gone out of her way to make Percy’s life miserable. It seemed that, in her eyes, he was guilty by association since his family so openly supported Harry Potter and Dumbledore. Percy’s desk was located around the corner from the door to the Minister’s office and Madam Umbridge had clearly just come from there. “I trust your business in Crawley yesterday went as planned?”

_Crawley….._ Percy had heard that name before, but he couldn’t think of where.

“For the most part, Ma’am. The house was nothing but cinders by the time the Muggles got there but…”

“But….?”

“One of the new recruits, Ma’am. He got a little carried away and cast the Dark Mark.” Percy froze, not quite able to believe what he was hearing. “Fortunately, it was a sunny day and I haven’t heard Madam Bones or any of the other senior Aurors say anything about it.”

“Well, that’s all right then.” Umbridge laughed her girlish laugh. “I suppose we must make allowances for the exuberance of youth, mustn’t we?” She gave a heartfelt sigh. “Oh, I _do_ wish I could have gone with you. I would have _loved_ to hear that uppity Mudblood bitch scream. Ah well….” Percy’s blood ran cold as the pieces suddenly fell together in his mind. There was only one person that Madam Umbridge referred to in such vulgar terms—Hermione Granger—and Percy suddenly recalled his little brother’s friend mentioning that she lived in a suburb of London called Crawley.

Hermione Granger was the one member of what Percy called “the younger crowd” that he really liked and respected (his siblings excepted, of course). She was smart and ambitious and, even if she did hold some rather odd notions, Percy had always known that she was going to _be_ someone someday. They had bonded over their love of learning and she was the one person at Hogwarts who had never called him a “swot” or a “stuck up know it all.” She couldn’t _really_ be dead, could she? Surely, Dumbledore wouldn’t really be so careless as to leave her unprotected. Percy had to know.

After making sure that Madam Umbridge and her companion had moved down the hall towards the Senior Undersecretary’s office, he stood and walked as quickly as was seemly to the lifts. It seemed to take him almost no time at all before he was walking down the dark, cramped hallway leading to the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts Office. Fortunately, his father was alone with Percy arrived.

“Percy!” Percy hated how old and careworn his father looked. He hated even more that there was no hint of pleasure in his father’s surprise.

“If you have a minute, I need to speak with you….in private.” Percy was well aware that there were at least three listening charms placed in various locations in his father’s office. From the glance his father shot towards the rather ugly portrait of the first Director of the Misuse of Muggle Artifacts office, he knew about them as well.

“I was going to go home for lunch.” Arthur said, slowly. “Can this wait?”

“It really can’t.” Percy hoped he didn’t sound as desperate as he felt. “Dad….please…..” Arthur’s eyes widened, slowly, and then he nodded.

“Well, you best come along then.” Percy followed his father into the Floo and, after a dizzying moment, stepped into the kitchen of the Burrow. He was confronted by the shocked expressions of not only his mother, but his two youngest siblings.

“Has anyone heard from Hermione Granger since school let out?” He asked, quickly, hoping to avoid an awkward scene. Ginny was the first to recover.

“No.” She glared at Percy with narrow eyes. “Why?”

“There was a Death Eater attack in Crawley yesterday. I heard Madam Umbridge talking to one of the Aurors about it, only I think he’s a Death Eater and I think they might have killed…..” Suddenly, all the emotion that Percy had been ruthlessly squelching for the past year surged up in his chest and blocked his throat. Both his parents had gone deathly pale and Ginny looked horrified.

“Sit down, son.” Arthur said, almost gently. “Molly, how are we set for Floo powder?”

“I….I got some last week.” Her voice was faint and not at all the strident, commanding tones Percy knew so well.

“Are…are you sure?” Ginny asked, tears welling up in her eyes.

“She lives in Crawley, doesn’t she?” Percy had to work to speak around the lump in her throat. 

“Does she?” Ron was the only one who seemed unaffected by the news. He seemed rather perplexed, in fact.

“Yes, Ron.” Ginny snapped. “I can’t believe you don’t know that. She’s one of your best friends!”

“And Umbridge…she was talking about the ‘uppity mudblood birch’….” Percy went on, ignoring his siblings. “She only ever uses that….that word when she’d talking about Hermione.” Any further conversation was cut off by the sound of roaring flames. Percy turned in his seat to see that his father was kneeling on the hearth with his head in the flames.

“Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix!” he called. There was a pause and then “Remus! Thank Merlin, it’s you. Listen, I’ve just heard that the Death Eaters may have gone after Hermione Granger and her family. Can you look into it? Her address?.....Er…..”

“35 Lynley Close, Crawley.” Ginny supplied, quickly. “It’s on the outskirts of London.”

“Did you hear that, Remus? All right. I’m at the Burrow, so call me here if you find out anything.” Throwing another handful of powder into the fire, Arthur put his head in once more. “Weasley’s Wizarding Wheezes. Fred? Good, you’re there. Get George and come home. It’s urgent. And Fred….leave the pranks at the shop.”

Over the next hour, the entire Weasley family, save for Charlie, gathered at the kitchen table for the first time in a year. There was no joy in the reunion, though Percy was also relieved that there was no shouting or throwing of hexes either. Everyone jumped when the fire roared to life again and Fred dropped the teacup he was holding It was a testament to their mother’s distress that she didn’t say anything about it.

“Arthur? It’s Remus. Minerva McGonagall is with me. May we come through?”

“Please.” As his father stepped back from the hearth, Molly absently waved her wand, cleaning up the mess Fed had made and summoning three more teacups. A moment later, the kitchen became even more crowded as Remus Lupin and Percy’s old Head of House entered. Both shot startled glances at him, but otherwise said nothing.

“You were right, Arthur.” Remus said, quietly. “The Death Eaters did attack the Grangers yesterday. Hermione wasn’t at home when they came, but both her parents were. They’re dead and the house was burned to the ground.” Molly pressed her hand to her mouth while Arthur closed his eyes, as if he was in physical pain.

“That poor girl.” Moly gasped. “Where is she, Remus? She shouldn’t be alone at a time like this.”

“We’re not sure.” Minerva McGonagall replied.

“I spoke to Alastor Moody.” Remus added. “He said that in situations like this, it’s likely she would need to be interviewed by the police several times over the next few days, so they will know how to find her. He’s speaking with some of his Muggle contacts to see if they can help us track her down.”

“She’s got loads of family—aunts and uncles and cousins. Maybe she’s with some of them.” Ginny suggested.

“But why hasn’t she gotten in touch with us?” Molly wondered.

“Probably because she can’t.” Everyone turned to stare at Percy. “What? It’s summertime, so it’s not like she’d have been carrying her wand, is it?”

“Percy’s right.” George murmured. “After last summer, she knows that the Ministry would come down on her like a house if they suspected her of doing underage magic. She wouldn’t take the risk. My bet is that her wand’s been locked in her trunk since she got off the train.”

“Without her wand, she can’t summon the Knight Bus or get onto the Alley.” Fred added. “And she hasn’t got her own owl, so she can’t send us a letter.”

“Ron, go get Pigwidgeon.” Molly ordered. “Tell him to wait for a reply. She can tell us where she is and we can fetch her.”

“That may not be such a good idea.” Remus cautioned. “From what we could gather, the Death Eaters never entered the house. They simply sealed all the exits and set the place on fire. They may not know that Hermione is alive. If the Death Eaters have targeted her, we do not want to put her in any more danger than necessary. Not until we know where she is and can adequately protect her.”

“But she’s not safe in the Muggle world!” Percy resisted the urge to roll his eyes at his mother’s strident wail. Fortunately, his father spoke before anyone else could.

“Molly, dear, she’s safe as long as they don’t know to look for her.”

“She’ll be safest here!” Somehow, in the year he’d been away, Percy had forgotten how stubborn his mother could be. “Ron, go get…”

“Pig isn’t here.” Ron sighed. “I sent him with a letter to….someone….this morning.”

“Who?” Ginny asked. “You know we’re not supposed to send anything to Harry….” Percy was shocked by this. Why on Earth would his siblings not be allowed to write to Harry Potter? What had happened in his absence? He noticed that his father looked troubled.

“It wasn’t Harry, I swear!” Ron said, quailing in front of his mother’s rising anger. “It was Lavender Brown, all right?”

“Lavender?” Fred choked on his tea and George had to pound him on the back. Percy noticed that Ginny was glaring at Ron.

“After all the time you’ve been…” she hissed.

“I told him to wait for her to respond, so I don’t know when he’ll be back.” Ron finished, hastily, clearly not wanting Ginny to finish her sentence. His face had gone scarlet and was clashing magnificently with his hair.

“It’s probably for the best.” Professor McGonagall met Molly’s fierce glare with one of her own. “Remus is correct. Miss Granger’s safety lies in obscurity. If worst comes to worst, she can get on the platform at King’s Cross on September 1 and we can go from there.” There was something about his former teacher’s eyes and the tightness of her jaw that made Percy think there was something she wasn’t telling them.

“In the meantime,” Arthur said “Percy and I are going to go back to the Ministry and speak to Amelia Bones. She needs to know that not all of her Aurors can be trusted. She’ll probably want to see your memory, Percy.”

“Of course.” Percy nodded. Draining his teacup, he stood. “Thanks for the tea, Mum.”

“You….you’ll come home for dinner, won’t you?” Molly twisted her apron in her hands. Percy was a bit taken aback by the invitation. Now that the crisis was over, he’d expected her to rant and rage at him and to demand that he prostrate himself before his family and beg forgiveness for his sins. He was a little wary of his family’s acceptance.

“Yes.” He nodded, slowly. “If you want me.”

“Sure we want you, Percy.” George clapped him on the back. “We’re coming too!”

“And we promise not to put anything in your Shepherd’s pie.” Fred added.

“We make no such guarantees about the pumpkin juice.” The last thing Percy saw as he stepped into the Floo was his brothers’ twin smirks. They made him feel oddly happy inside. _This_ was more like it.

**

**Malfoy Manor**

**June 28, 1996**

“Cissy, you need to calm down and tell me what is wrong.” Narcissa Malfoy looked at her oldest sister and worried her lower lip between her teeth.

“It’s Draco.” She said, finally. “The Dark Lord intends to give him the Mark on his birthday.”

“That’s wonderful!” Bellatrix clasped her hands together in ecstatic joy.

“Is it?” Narcissa arched an eyebrow. “He’s only sixteen, Bella. He won’t be able to prove himself for another year. I’m so afraid that the Dark Lord intends to use Draco to punish his father.”

“Perhaps.” Bellatrix shrugged. “But I think it more likely that he knows Draco is to become the next Head of House Black.” Narcissa wasn’t nearly as confident as her sister that this was going to happen, but she did not argue.

“He wants access to the Black vaults.” Narcissa nodded. “That makes sense. Lucius’ coffers are almost empty.”

“There is that,” Bellatrix conceded. “But I think the library is more important to him.”

“What?” Narcissa was genuinely confused. “What are you talking about?”

“Come.” Bellatrix patted the bed next to her and Narcissa obediently sat down, automatically turning so that her sister had access to her hair. For as long as she could remember, her older sister had always loved dressing her up and playing with her hair. Sometimes Narcissa wondered if Bellatrix saw her as nothing more than a particularly lifelike animated doll. Bella’s fascination with her sister’s looks had only increased since her impromptu release from Azkaban. While Narcissa found it irritating, she did not complain as it was a useful tool to keep her sister calm. “Did you know that Auntie Walburga killed our mother?”

“What?” Narcissa stiffened, glad that her sister could not see the shock and horror on her face. “No, I didn’t.”

“Hmmm.” Bella hummed as she pulled Narcissa’s hair out of its complicated arrangement. “She did it because our Lord asked her to. He thought that if Mother was out of the way, Father would be more likely to align himself to our Master.”

“But he didn’t.”

“No.” Bellatrix sighed, sadly. “So Auntie Walburga had to kill him, too. Then stupid Uncle Orion refused to take up the Head of House Ring, so Auntie killed him and….well….you know what happened to Sirius.” Narcissa had to work very hard to keep her breathing even.

“She wanted Regulus to be Head of House Black.” She said, finally.

“Mmm hmmm!” Bellatrix crooned, happily. “Reg would have been a good Head of House. He would have given our Lord what he wants.”

“And what is that?”

“The Black library, silly!” Bella giggled, combing her fingers through her sister’s blonde tresses. “You know that our Manor boasts the largest collection of volumes about Dark Magic in Britain. There are just _loads_ of books in there that you can’t find anywhere else!”

“But….if he wanted them, why didn’t Regulus give them to him? Or you?”

“They’re entailed.” Even though Bellatrix was behind her, Narcissa could tell that her sister was pouting. “Only the Head of House Black can remove them from the Manor.”

“And only the Head of House can alter the wards to allow people into the Manor.” Narcissa nodded and Bellatrix slapped her shoulder.

“Hold still!” After a moment’s tense silence, she continued. “Auntie thought that getting the Wizengamot to disown Sirius in favor of Regulus would be enough, but she was wrong.” The bed bounced slightly as Bellatrix became excited again. “But now the blood traitors are all dead, so Draco is the next in line! The Ring will accept him and he’ll be able to give our Lord everything he wants.”

“The will reading isn’t for a few weeks, yet.” Narcissa cautioned. 

“Doesn’t matter.” Bellatrix said, happily. “Flint….not the new one, but his father…..”

“Gavin.” Narcissa supplied.

“Yes, him. He works at the Ministry and he got a peek at the copy of the will that the goblins submitted for processing. The blood-traitor tried to leave everything to Harry Potter, but he can’t because wee baby Potter isn’t family!” Narcissa closed her eyes and sternly suppressed the bile that threatened to rise in her throat. Bellatrix was wrong. Harry Potter was a blood relative to Sirius Black and, thus, had just as good a claim on the Black family legacy as Draco did. What was more, Narcissa knew her cousin far better than Bellatrix did and she was certain that Sirius had come up with some way to ensure that his godson would be the next Head of House Black. The Dark Lord would be furious when he found out and her son would, in all likelihood, die.

**

**CHAPTER 2 –**

**Notes:**

**Dialogue that is bracketed by colons is the voice in Hermione’s head. Dialogue bracketed by colon and quotes is Hermione speaking to the voice in her head.**

**The Lambert Hotel**

**July 1, 1996**

Hermione had not used her alarm clock since the beginning of her third year. Crookshanks was far more reliable than any timepiece—muggle or magical—and he was far cuddlier, too. They had developed a kind of ritual over the years and as she slowly became aware of the pw gently patting her nose, her arms instinctively reached up to hug her best friend.

“Morning, Crooksy. How’s my big boy today?” Croookshanks purred his response, but there was a discordant note in the sound that brought Hermione to alertness far more quickly than usual. She didn’t sense alarm, exactly, but she somehow knew that something in her immediate vicinity was… _off_.

“Aww, look at you two! You’re so cute, you make my hair hut!” Hermione’s body tensed as her brain attempted to process as much as possible without giving too much away. Crookshanks was still in her arms and still purring and there was now a note of comfort underneath the usual desire for food and petting, so whoever it was wasn’t a threat. In fact, she realized, Crookshanks considered the intruder a friend. His earlier wariness had been to alert her to the man’s presence, not to warn her. There were only three people Crooks had ever been this relaxed around—Harry, Ginny, and…. Hermione’s eyes flew open.

“Hello.” He said, softly.

“S….Sirius?” Memories came flooding back to Hermione—her research into the Keepers, the ritual, the tall woman with hair that shone like moonlight and eyes that kept shifting colors—now green, now blue, now blindingly white, now so dark looking at them feel like she was falling down a hole that had no bottom--and her words…… Hermione couldn’t remember what the woman had said, but she knew that it had been terribly, terribly important. She struggled for a moment to bring the memory back to the surface of her mind, before deciding that there were more pressing matters at hand. Besides, experience had taught her that sometimes _not_ thinking about a problem was the best way to solve it. “You’re real? The ritual worked?”

“As usual, Hermione, you were brilliant.” Sirius sat back in his chair and gave her a roguish wink. “Although there was really no need to show off.”

“What?” For a moment Sirius looked exactly the same way Hagrid did when he realized he’d said more than he should.

“Bollocks!” he muttered, then gave her a disarming smile that did not reach his eyes. “Sorry, Hermione. We have a lot to talk about and, as usual, I’ve started at the wrong end. But first, I brought tea!” He gestured towards the table by the bed and, indeed, Hermione could see a large cup bearing the logo of one of the local tea-houses. An enticing aroma reached her nostrils and, almost without consciously doing it, she sat up, shifted Crookshanks to her lap, and reached for the cup.

“You look different.” She said, as she settled her back against the mountain of pillows.

“Do I?” He looked amused. “How?”

“You look….” She peered at him closely until the answer came to him. “Younger. Healthier. Harry has a photo album with pictures of his parents, you know.”

“The one Hagrid gave him.” Sirius nodded. “He showed it to me.”

“Well, there’s a picture of you at his parents’ wedding. You look like that picture now. Not like you did after Azkaban.”

“Huh.” Sirius sat back, looking thoughtful. “That’s….interesting.” They sat in companionable silence while Hermione sipped at her tea. 

“Sirius….” Hermione said, slowly. “Where did you get this?”

“At the shop around the corner.” He said, breezily, then paused as a thought struck him. “I should probably tell you that I used most of the cash in your wallet.”

“For tea?” Hermione knew that she should be furious with him, but her emotions seemed oddly muted, as if part of her brain was wrapped in a warm comforting blanket from which it did not want to emerge. She could still think clearly, but she felt detached from things. It was, however, a different sort detachment from that which she’d had prior to the ritual. Then, she’d been constantly fighting to avoid the pain and grief of her parents’ loss. Now, the pain seemed to be avoiding _her_. She knew it wouldn’t last, but she was glad of it, nonetheless.

“And food.” Sirius said. “There’s a couple of sandwiches for you in the other room.” Hermione nodded her thanks. “Before you go in there, though, there are some things you need to know. First, I know what happened to your parents. Hermione, I am so, so sorry.” Just for a moment, the pain was back in full force. It blinded her and forced all the air out of her lungs. Then, as soon as it had come, it was gone. In her mind’s eye, Hermione caught a flash of the woman from the ritual, standing between her and the pain, which had no physical form, but pulsed with a violent red light. Drawing in a deep, ragged breath, she clutched Crookshanks to her chest and buried her face in his fur, using the time to blink away the tears from her eyes.

“Thank you.” She said, quietly. Looking up, she saw that Sirius was giving her a small, sad smile. 

“I know that this is probably difficult for you to talk about.” She couldn’t remember ever hearing Sirius sound so….gentle before. “But I have to ask. Was it Death Eaters?” Hermione could only nod.

“They were going to leave.” Hermione whispered. “My parents. I….I told them everything when I got home from school and they were going to get out…to be safe. And…and there were supposed to be wards! He _promised_ me there were wards!”

“He…Dumbledore?” She nodded, feeling the misery threaten to overwhelm her again. Crookshanks butted her chin with his head, the way he always did when he wanted to be petted and her hand automatically began stroking the soft, orange fur. Immediately, she felt more relaxed and in control. She gave her pet a scratch behind the ears in thanks.

“Yes.” She said, her voice sounding stronger now. “After what happened in the Department of Mysteries, I was worried that Voldemort and the Death Eaters might come after us, to see if anyone heard the Prophecy.”

“Did you?” Sirius leaned forward suddenly. “I…we didn’t know what was happening. We just went charging in and found ourselves in the middle of a running battle. I didn’t exactly have time to ask any questions before….well, you know.”

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “Harry got it off the shelf, but before he could hear it, all hell broke loose. It fell and smashed at some point after that, but I’m not sure Voldemort realizes that none of us heard it. So, I started asking around and Neville, Luna and the Weasleys assured me that their homes are well protected with wards. Well…Luna said something about her home being protected by Lumbering Labradelles, but I think she was talking about wards.”

“Lumbering…” Sirius looked astonished. “What?”

“Never mind.” Hermione said. “You’d have to know Luna to understand. Anyway, Harry’s aunt’s house is supposed to be protected by blood wards, so I realized that _I_ was the only one without any kind of magical protection and that, even if the Death Eaters weren’t after the Prophecy, I was an easy target. I asked Professor McGonagall about it and she took me to see the Headmaster. He said he’d anticipated this problem and put wards around my parents’ house already. He told me all about them and said that the Aurors and the Order would be alerted if Death Eaters crossed the ward line and that help would come…” She paused and concentrated on keeping her breathing even. “He lied to me.” She said at last. “I looked for the ward stones that should have been at the edges of the property and there were none.”

“How…” Sirius seemed to have trouble speaking. “Hermione, how do you know it was the Death Eaters? I don’t mean to doubt you, but the newspaper said that there was a fire caused by some kind of problem with the electricity.” 

“I was at the library when…when it happened. Our library is just down the street from my house. I was coming out and I…I saw the Dark Mark. It wasn’t very obvious because it was daytime, but I _saw_ it.”

“All right, I believe you.” Sirius said, in a soothing voice. “So, Dumbledore lied about the wards.”

“He’s lied about a lot of things.” She scowled.

“I know.” Sirius nodded. “I read your notebook and….well, I know about some other things that I can tell you later. For now, let’s move on to the second thing we need to discuss before you leave this room. Your wand. I looked last night, but I couldn’t find it.”

“I never took it out of my trunk after I got home.” Hermione sighed. “After last year….well, as far as I know, Dolores Umbridge is still with the Ministry of Magic and she wants my head on a silver platter. Mr. Moody is going to _kill_ me when he finds out I was wandering around unarmed.”

“Yeah, he probably will.” Sirius chuckled. “Although if you call him ‘Mr. Moody’ to his face, he may kill you before you have to tell him.”

“Oh, he said I could call him that.” Hermione shrugged. “I kept calling him ‘Professor’ last summer and it was driving him crazy, but I was always taught that only using an adult’s last name is really rude, so this was our compromise.”

“You got Moody to compromise?” Sirius looked impressed. “Remind me to get a memory of that conversation later. For now, I’m more concerned with your wand. Without it, you haven’t been able to contact anyone in the Wizarding world, have you?”

“That’s not exactly true.” Hermione admitted. “I could have used the Floo in Firestone Books.”

“I’m not familiar with that place.” Sirius admitted. “It’s not on Diagon Alley, is it?”

“No. It’s a combined muggle and wizarding bookshop that’s near the Globe theater….never mind. I’ll take you over there some time. My point is that I don’t need a wand to get there, the owners know me and would have let me use their Floo if I’d wanted it.”

“All right, so the question then becomes why didn’t you contact anyone?”

“Because….because I don’t know who I can trust!” Hermione blurted out. “If I contacted the Weasleys or anyone in the Order, then Dumbledore would find out. I don’t know why he lied about the wards, but I’ve done a lot of thinking over the past few days and I thought a lot about everything that he did and said after you escaped and…well…after what happened to you at the Department of Mysteries…. I began to see some similarities in the way he treats me and the way he treated you.”

“You think he might be just as happy to have us out of the picture.” Sirius said, not even bothering to phrase it as a question.

“Yes.” Hermione nodded, miserably. “If it was so important to him that you stay hidden, why did he let you go to the Ministry? Did he even _try_ to stop you?”

“No.” Sirius said. “Not that I would have given him much of a choice, but he didn’t try. In fact…he seemed pleased when I said I was going. And if you were so important to him, why didn’t he ward your house? It’s not like it would have been all that difficult or time consuming.”

“I really don’t like the conclusions I’m coming to.” Hermione hugged Crookshanks a little closer. “I’m not saying he wanted to kill me…either of us….”

“But you don’t think he would be devastated by your loss, either.” Sirius looked grim. “I hate to say this, but you’re probably right. You’re also right that anyone in the Order would report your whereabouts to him immediately, even if you asked them to keep quiet about it. You’d be back under his thumb quicker than you can say ‘quidditch.’ Why not contact the Ministry? They’re supposed to have services set up for situations like this.”

“Same problem.” Hermione said. “I’m not sure who I can trust. You and I both know that the Ministry is full of Death Eaters and people who might not have the Mark but who share their views. And I wasn’t kidding when I said that Dolores Umbridge _wants me dead_.”

“You? Why?” Hermione briefly related the events leading up to their flight to the Department of Mysteries, with a brief side venture into the history of Grawp and the reason for his presence in the Forbidden Forest. Sirius stared at her, slack-jawed, until she was finished. 

“The next time I see Hagrid, I am going to hex him until I am blue in the face!” he growled. “Don’t get me wrong, your plan was brilliant, but he exposed you and Harry to a giant…..” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “Okay, so Umbridge blames you for giving her up to the centaurs….”

“And she almost cast an Unforgiveable and admitted to setting the Dementors on Harry last summer in front of me and the others.” Hermione added. “She wouldn’t want that getting out, obviously, but as I’m the only muggleborn…”

“You’re the only one she can get at right now. Right.” Sirius pinched the bridge of his nose. “And since the Ministry is, no doubt, bending over backwards to kiss up to Harry, they’d be bound to take anything you had to say seriously. So, you can’t contact the Order or the Ministry. What about your friends?” Hermione shook her head. 

“The only people I know how to get a hold of are either related to Order members-“

“The Weasleys.”

“Or are related to people in the Ministry, like Susan Bones.” Hermione finished.

“Bones?” Sirius sat forward, eagerly. “Any relation to Amelia Bones?”

“Her niece.” Hermione confirmed. “Amelia is Susan’s guardian. Susan gave me their Floo address last summer because we were working together on a project for Ancient Runes.”

“Right.” Sirius rubbed his hands together briskly. “That’s dead useful. We’ll get back to that later. Before then, we need to talk about the ritual you did and _why_ you did it.”

“You read the notebook.” Hermione gave Sirius a pleading look. “We have to help Harry. You’re the only one who has any legal claim….”

“I’m not.” Sirius said, “But there’s no way you could have known that. I understand—and agree with—your motivations, Hermione, and Merlin knows I want to help Harry just as badly as you do but our situation is very…..complicated. Much more so than it would normally be under these circumstances.”

“Why?” Hermione felt her heart sink.

“Two reasons. The first is that there were a lot of people who saw me die. Now, there is absolutely nothing wrong or illegal about the ritual you used to bring me back, but the ritual you used is very old magic and there are a lot of people who don’t remember the old ways or who think of it as being….well, what you would call dark, but what I would call Profane. A lot of people are going to take one look at me and assume you used Necromancy to bring me back and Necromancy _is_ both very wrong and very illegal. So, we’re going to have to play this carefully, to keep you out of trouble.”

“And the second reason?” Sirius ran a hand through his hair and gave her a rather sheepish grin.

“You remember how I started by accusing you of showing off?” Hermione nodded, carefully. “I’m not the only one you brought back.”

**

An hour later, Hermione stood in front of the closed bedroom door and tried to summon the courage to open it. She had, to put it mildly, freaked out when Sirius told her that she had somehow managed to Summon _four_ deceased Blacks. Worse, they expected her to somehow salvage their family’s honor and restore their Family magics. She didn’t even know what that _meant_. And then there was the promise she’d made to the mysterious woman with the ever-changing eyes. Hermione couldn’t remember what she’d said, but it had been important. She’d read about magically binding vows and she had a horrible suspicion she’d made one to the stranger.

It was all too overwhelming. All she’d wanted to do was bring Sirius back to help Harry. Not this….whatever this was…. Closing her eyes, she leaned her forehead against the door.

“I can’t do this.” She whispered.

:You can. You will. You must.:

Hermione drew in a sharp breath. That voice…she _knew_ that voice.

:Of course you know me, dear girl. You have always known me.: Laughter.

:”I’m so afraid.”:

:I know dear heart. But you will find the courage you need, when you need it.:

:”Help me. Please.”:

:Always.: Invisible arms embraced her and Hermione instantly felt safe and warm, the way she had when, as a child, when a violent thunderstorm had woken her up in the middle of the night. The feeling only lasted for a moment, but when it was over, Hermione felt better. Really, all she had to do right now was open the door and meet some people. She could do that. Everything else could wait.

Drawing in a deep breath, she squared her shoulders, opened the door and walked into the sitting room. She nearly retreated when she saw that four pairs of identical grey eyes were fixed on her, but before she could move, Sirius was at her side. Placing a gentle hand in the small of her back, he propelled her further into the room towards the oldest, and tallest man.

“Hermione, may I present Cygnus Black, my uncle and current Head of House Black….I think….” Sirius looked perplexed for a moment, but the expression vanished almost as soon as it had appeared. “Uncle, this is Miss Hermione Granger.” Cygnus bowed deeply and Hermione found herself fighting the urge to curtsey—something that would have made her look rather ridiculous, since she was wearing jeans and a t-shirt.

“I am honored to meet you, Miss Granger.” Cygnus had a low, refined voice that reminded Hermione of a well known Shakespearean actor. 

“Likewise.” She murmured, holding out her hand. It had been her intention to initiate a simple handshake, but Cygnus apparently interpreted her actions differently for he took her hand in his and brushed a brief kiss against the back of her knuckles. Suddenly, the room seemed very warm.

“This….” Sirius nudged her towards the next man “is my father, Orion Black.” Orion was shorter and stockier than Cygnus and, unlike the rest of his family, he had blonde hair. As Sirius again performed the more formal introductions, Orion gave her a shy smile which Hermione could not help but return. The bowing and hand kissing routine was repeated, much to Hermione’s dismay, before Sirius indicated the third stranger. “Finally, we have my younger brother, Regulus Black.”

Later, Hermione’s heart would swell with pride as she remembered how successfully she stifled the urge to shriek “Death Eater!” into the poor boy’s face. Regulus looked to be about her age and, though he bore a passing physical resemblance to Sirius, there was something in his manner and bearing that reminded her strongly of Percy Weasley. She had trouble imagining a boy like this—for it was clear that he hadn’t yet transitioned into manhood—becoming one of Voldemort’s devoted followers.

Once introductions were complete, Sirius ushered Hermione to a chair. It was only after she was seated that she remembered that there was only enough seating for four. Sirius perched himself on the arm of the sofa, waving away Hermione’s protests. After that, no one seemed to know quite what to say. After a few moments of increasingly awkward silence during which no one seemed able to look directly at anyone else, Hermione couldn’t bear the tension.

“What do we do now?” she asked, hating how shrill she sounded. To her surprise, there were audible sighs of relief. With the small corner of her brain that wasn’t currently overwhelmed by panic, Hermione noticed that everyone seemed to instinctively look to Cygnus to supply the answer to her question. 

“Sirius has told you about our ancestor and the future he saw in the Mirror of Prophecy, has he not?” Though the man appeared to be immune to the nerves that so obviously plagued his brother and nephew, his voice was stilted and Hermione had the distinct impression that he was trying to set a tone that was more formal than that he was used to. In other words, he was trying too hard. She was not ashamed to admit that she took some comfort in knowing that this poised and elegant man was, in his own way, just as nervous as she was.

“He did.” She nodded. “He said that Rigel made preparations for this event, though he didn’t give me any details.” Cygnus nodded and seemed to relax slightly.

“Rigel did several things that will make our..er…re-integration into British wizarding society much easier.” Cygnus said. “During his lifetime, he used his position on the Wizengamot to ensure that legislation was passed that will prohibit the Ministry from barring us from our rightful place in the government and in society.”

“Really?” Hermione leaned forward, some of her shyness forgotten in the excitement of learning new things. “I didn’t see anything about that when I was doing my research…”

“We think that Rigel or one of his immediate descendants did some fancy footwork to ensure that those laws were buried where no one could find them.” Sirius said. “I don’t know how it works in the Muggle world, but laws that are passed by the Wizengamot are magically binding. If the Wizengamot hasn’t voted to strike them from the record, the Ministry must enforce them, no matter how old they are or that nobody remembers them. If Dumbledore or the Ministry try to deny us our rights, Magic will make them suffer for it.”

“But if that’s true,” Hermione said “how is it you were sent to Azkaban without a trial? I remember researching this after third year and the law _clearly_ states….”

“I was never officially charged with a crime.” Sirius replied. “No charge, no need for a trial.”

“Well that’s just……” Hermione huffed with indignation.

“Isn’t it?” Sirius gave her a mock scowl. “However, my quasi illegal incarceration is not the point here.”

“Sirius is right.” Cygnus nodded. “The important thing to know right now is that the legislation Rigel had passed is still valid. The Ministry will have no choice but to restore to us our title, rights, and position.” Cygnus said, firmly. “Rigel also made arrangements with Gringotts to preserve our vaults and properties.” He paused and glanced at Sirius. “Has my nephew’s will be read yet?”

“No.” Hermione said. “The reading is due to take place on July 30 at Gringotts. I received the notice the day after I got home from Hogwarts.”

“Good.” Cygnus nodded. “That will simplify things. Out of curiosity…” he turned to Sirius “who stands to inherit the estate?”

“There were two viable candidates.” Sirius said. “Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy.”

“Potter?” Regulus sounded astonished. “How is he…?”

“His grandmother was Dorea Black.” Sirius spoke quickly, as if trying to prevent Regulus from saying something he shouldn’t. “Dorea married Hadrian Potter. Harry is her great-grandson. We…” he gestured to the other men “are descendants of Druella Black, Dorea’s twin sister, as is Draco Malfoy. The goblins told me that both boys have an equal claim to the title, as far as blood goes. I did everything I could to ensure that the estate would pass to Harry, but…” he scowled, “I’m sure Lucius will do everything in his power to cut him out completely.”

“He won’t be doing anything from a Ministry holding cell.” Hermione said, a grim note of triumph in her voice. “He was the leader of the Death Eaters who were waiting for us at the Ministry. At some point during the fight, he was Stunned and the Aurors caught him.”

“You are speaking of Narcissa’s husband, aren’t you?” Cygnus looked troubled.

“She is.” Sirius replied. “Hermione, Narcissa Malfoy—that’s Draco’s mother—is Cygnus’ daughter.”

“Oh.” Hermione had no idea how to respond to that. Fortunately, Cygnus didn’t seem to expect her to say anything.

“Sirius told us that Lucius has used his money and influence to exercise a great deal of control over the Minister of Magic.” Orion spoke for the first time. “Will he be able to worm his way out of this, do you think?”

“I doubt it.” Hermione said. “I haven’t seen _The Daily Prophet_ since….well….” she had to pause to clear the lump from her throat and all the men courteously looked elsewhere as she collected herself. “I haven’t seen the _Prophet_ in a few days, but unless something has happened that I don’t know about, Fudge is going to be kicked out of office with extreme prejudice when the Wizengamot meets on the 15th. Most of Malfoy’s influence on the Ministry will go with him.”

“That tallies with what I heard last night.” Sirius agreed. “People are saying that Amelia Bones ia a shoo-in to be the next Minister and there’s no way she’ll put up with Malfoy’s crap.”

“Susan’s aunt!” Hermione’s mind hummed with understanding. “That’s why you were asking about her earlier, isn’t it?”

“Quick as ever.” Sirius gave her a fond smile. “As I told you, despite Rigel’s preparations, there are going to be a lot of people who will believe that you used Necromancy to bring us back.”

“Molly Weasley.” Hermione muttered.

“And Albus Dumbledore.” There were frowns, scowls, and several noises of irritation and disgust that surprised and intrigued Hermione, but she decided now was not the time to pursue that particular topic.

“So you want to speak to Madam Bones….er….privately, before you announce yourselves to the world at large.”

“Yes.” Sirius nodded. “Amelia is from one of the oldest magical families in England and is smart enough to know the difference between Dark and Profane Magic. Plus, she has a sterling reputation for honesty and integrity. What’s more, she is well aware that Dumbledore isn’t the paragon of perfection that most people seem to think he is.”

“You know something I don’t?” Even as she asked the question, Hermione was certain of the answer.

“Yes.” Cygnus said, slowly. “There are a number of things we need to discuss, but it would be best to wait until we are someplace more secure.” Though it irked her to no end, Hermione had to agree.

“I know how we can get in touch with Madam Bones.” She said, quietly. “Once we’ve talked to her—presuming all goes well—what then?”

“We’ll go to Black Manor.” Orion spoke for the first time. “It’s the safest place for us…and for you.”

“Don’t worry, my Mother never lived there.” Sirius said, correctly interpreting Hermione’s frown. “No screaming portraits or crazy House Elves.”

“There is no need to exaggerate.” Regulus said, sounding rather prim. “Once we’re at the Manor, we can summon Kreacher and….”

“No!” Hermione and Sirius both spoke at the same time.

“Trust me, Reg. That elf isn’t right.” Sirius said. “He was taking orders from Mother’s _portrait_! His life’s ambition was to have his head mounted on the wall!”

“What’s more, we can’t trust him.” Hermione added, when it looked like Regulus was about to argue. Quickly, she described the events that had led to their flight to the Ministry and Kreacher’s role in them. By the time she was finished, Regulus and Orion wore almost identical expressions of shock, while Sirius looked as if he wanted to Apparate to Grimmauld Place to deal with the traitor right then. Only Cygnus remained calm, though Hermione had the distinct impression that there was a great deal of emotion roiling under his serene exterior.

“The Family Magic must have been corrupted quite badly to affect a House Elf in that way.” He said, finally. “That is just one of many issues we will need to address. However, our first priority is to get in touch with Madam Bones. You said you have a way to do that?”

“Yes.” Hermione nodded. “There’s a Floo at Firestone Books we can use. It’s a book shop that primarily serves Muggle customers, so we’re unlikely to run into anyone Sirius or I know there.” 

“A Floo in a Muggle bookshop?” Regulus looked as though the idea was as foreign to him as the idea of space travel had been to the Weasleys.

“One of the owners is a Squib.” Hermione explained. “Most of the shop is entirely Muggle, but they have a back room with books for witches and wizards and a fireplace hooked up to the Floo network.” She paused, thoughtfully. “I’ll ask them if I can give out their phone number to the people who need to reach me.”

“But…” Regulus started to protest, but Cygnus cut him off.

“I’m afraid that we cannot bring Muggles into Black Manor.” He said, sounding as if he genuinely regretted having to tell her this. “Our father erected wards that are designed to keep them off our land and they are…well…rather nasty.”

“Is the Manor hooked up to the Floo network?” As everyone nodded, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief. “Well, then, I can just Floo to the Leaky Cauldron, go into Muggle London, and take the Tube….” At this, Regulus seemed to be unable to contain himself any longer.

“Why would you want to go into Muggle London?” he asked, incredulously. “I know you’re a Muggleborn, but you’re a _witch_! You shouldn’t be…”

“Regulus!” Orion and Cygnus snapped in unison and Sirius was giving his brother the kind of glare he usually reserved for Professor Snape. Before Hermione could erupt, the strange presence she’d felt earlier spoke in her mind.

:Remember that he is young and knows little of the world. Treat him as you would an ill-informed and misguided child.: With a slight nod of her head, Hermione took a deep breath and turned a steady gaze onto the young man, who was now looking both defiant and ashamed.

“I cannot simply vanish form the Muggle world.” She said, slowly. “The police keep calling and coming by to update me on their investigation, I have a meeting with my parents’ solicitor on Monday, and I have a very large family who would certainly notice if I disappeared without a trace. What is more, I have no desire to quit the Muggle world completely. I am a witch, but that is not all I am and there are a great many things that the Wizarding world simply doesn’t have that I can get quite easily in London.”

“Well said, Hermione.” Sirius said, quietly. Regulus still looked mutinous, but the wrath of his family had, apparently, convinced him to remain silent. A tension-filled silence descended and, once again, Hermione felt compelled to break it.

“Right.” She rubbed her hands together briskly. “The first thing we need to do is figure out how to get you lot out of this room without anyone noticing or asking awkward questions.” 

This was easier said than done. First, Sirius had to transfigure the robes the other men were wearing into clothing that could pass for Muggle. Between the fact that Sirius hadn’t paid any attention to Muggle fashion since the late 1970s and the rather strident complaints that the others—particularly Regulus—put up about his choices, this took nearly half an hour. While the men were thus engaged, Hermione packed up her few possessions and called Firestone Books. Beatrice Fynchcliffe was more than willing to allow her the use of both the private telephone number and the Floo, so Hermione then called the police, the solicitor’s office, and one relative on each side of the family who could be relied upon to pass the information on to the rest. She informed them all that she was going to stay with two elderly aunties who lived in the country for a few weeks, but that she could be reached easily at the number she gave them. Fortunately, she had elderly aunties who lived in the country on both sides of the family, so there was little chance that she’d be caught out by any overly inquisitive relatives.

While Hermione checked out, thanked the hotel manager and staff profusely for their sympathy and assistance and endured their rather clumsy attempts to wrest some last piece of gossip out of her, Sirius led his family down the back stairs, through the kitchens and out the door into the alley running behind the building. They all converged on the sidewalk in front of the hotel and faced the problem of how to get to Firestone Books. Since Sirius had taken almost all of her cash and there wasn’t a bank nearby, Hermione had initially wanted to take the Tube. One glance at the three wizards who were openly gaping at the Muggle world around them put paid to that idea. Finally, Sirius slipped back into the alley with one of Hermione’s blank notebooks and came back with a handful of ten pound notes.

“How much did you…” Hermione’s eyes widened as Sirius thrust several thick stacks of currency into her hands. “Sirius, there has to be several thousand pounds here. We just needed enough to pay the taxi.” Sirius just laughed as she hastily shoved the notes into her bag.

“It’s perfectly good. The Muggles will never notice the difference.” He assured her. “Just don’t try to exchange it for Galleons. The goblins are…not kind to people who attempt to cheat them.”

“Just now, I’m more worried about cheating the poor taxi driver.” Hermione muttered. However, since she couldn’t come up with a better plan, they hailed a taxi and began winding their way through traffic towards the bookshop.

“A bookshop that serves both wizards and muggles….” Orion said wonderingly, after Sirius had raised a discreet privacy charm. “However did you find such a place?”


	8. Another Untitled Work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> SUMMARY – When Hermione Granger, daughter of two of Britain’s leading anthropologists, discovers that she’s a witch, she and her parents embark on a quest to learn all they can about this new world. This has ramifications for both the magical and muggle worlds.

**HERMIONE THE ANTRHOPLOGIST**

By LadyLightles

A/N – I do not have any formal training in anthropology or any of its sub-fields. It is more than likely that I have made some egregious errors, for which I humbly apologize. Also, I’m not a Brit, nor do I play one on TV. So, I’ll apologize now for any errors I make on _that_ front as well (Although I should state up front that MI-13 is a fictitious organization of my own creation…unless it’s real, in which case I apologize again).

In canon, Hermione Granger’s parents are dentists. However, I decided to see what would happen if the “Dr.” before their names had a different meaning. This story is a complete AU, though I have used plenty of characters and plotlines from canon.

**

**PROLOGUE**

(From _A Preliminary Survey of the Magical Communities Within the Territories of England, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland; Compiled by the Committee on Arcane Affairs_ )

**A Brief Overview of the History of the Committee on Arcane Affairs, its Objectives, its Members, and the Commissioning of This Report**

On August 12, 1990, Queen Elizabeth II, sovereign of England, Wales, Scotland, and Northern Ireland, received a visit from Miss Maria Finn and Mr. Thaddeus Braxton, both citizens of the United Magical States of America (UMSA). Miss Finn and Mr. Braxton were tasked by their government to approach Her Majesty in as discreet a manner as possible, to lodge several formal complaints against the British Ministry of Magic (BMoM) . These complaints are as follows:

  * That the BMoM did willfully and in full knowledge of the illegality of its actions perform memory charms on citizens of the United States of America—both magical and non-magical—while they were on British soil.
  * That the BMoM conspired to defraud citizens of the UMSA both within and without the territory of Great Britain.
  * That the BMoM did illegally detain citizens of the UMSA on false charges and did extort large sums of money out of these detainees under threat of sending them to prison without trial.
  * That, for the past 20 years, the BMoM has knowingly and willfully harbored, aided, and abetted a terrorist organization that has perpetrated and continues to perpetrate crimes against citizens of the United Kingdom and the United States of America—both magical and non-magical.



At the time Miss Finn and Mr. Braxton approached her, Her Majesty knew nothing about magic or the magical communities within her realm. She summoned Mr. Martin Bishop of MI-13, the department in the Ministry of Defense (MoD) tasked with investigating reports of paranormal or supernatural activities, and charged him with examining the matter.

With the assistance of Miss Finn and Mr. Braxton, Mr. Bishop located the Merlin Accords. The Merlin Accords (MA) constitute a legally and magically binding contract between the Crown and all magical citizens of the United Kingdom and its territories, in which both parties agree to separate and abide by certain rules of behavior with respect to one another. The Accords were signed in 1600 by Queen Elizabeth I and one Oswald Greengrass, acting as representative for the magical community. 

(It should be noted that there is evidence that someone attempted to destroy the Accords using both magical and non-magical means and that, when that failed, they used magic to conceal the location of the Accords from the Crown and all other non-magical members of the British government. This was done some time before 1783, so the MA were never adjusted to account for changes made to the status of any colonies or territories claimed by Great Britain at that time. Therefore, Her Majesty is still, technically, sovereign ruler over all magical communities within the former North American colonies. Negotiations are currently underway with both the American and Canadian magical governments to resolve this issue.)

In the Accords, the Crown agreed to allow the magical communities of the United Kingdom and its territories to go into hiding and, for all intents and purposes, to separate themselves from non-magical society. These communities were given the right to govern themselves, to sequester certain properties, and to collect taxes and disburse the revenues as they saw fit. In return, those communities acknowledged the Crown’s sovereignty, agreed that all magical peoples within her Majesty’s dominions were to be granted the same rights and liberties and subject to the same laws as its non-magical citizens, and that the magical governing body would take all necessary measures to ensure that magical peoples did not use their powers to abuse non-magical peoples.

(It should be noted that the magical communities of the British Isles have always considered themselves to be one, united community regardless of political distinctions between countries. Therefore, all magical communities on the island of Ireland are subject to the dictates of the Accords.)

After speaking at length with Miss Finn and Mr. Braxton, Mr. Bishop determined that, despite their age, the Accords are still binding on both parties, as the document itself is an enchanted artifact. Should either side feel that the terms of the agreement have been violated, they may seek a ruling from the Accords, which will pass judgement and mete out warranted punishments. While it may seem strange to submit to the judgement of a piece of parchment, the Americans assure us that such enchantments are regularly used within the magical world and that they are quite popular, owing to both their impartiality and their incorruptibility.

Mr. Bishop’s examination of the Accords led him to believe that the BMoM—and, indeed, the British magical community as a whole—is in breach of the Accords on a number of counts. Her Majesty is reluctant to pursue any sort of punitive action without further investigation. Therefore, she ordered Mr. Bishop to convene a Committee of Inquiry on Arcane Affairs (hereafter known as the “Committee”) to pursue an investigation into the state of her magical realm. The Committee has been given the following mandates:

1 – To investigate and assess the current state of the magical communities within Her Majesty’s realm including its government, its economy, its social structure, its system of education, and whatever other areas of the society the Committee shall deem necessary; and to apprise Her Majesty and the Prime Minister of its findings.

2 – To determine what, if any, crimes said community, its government, or its members have committed against the non-magical citizens of Great Britain and/or the citizens of the United States of America (both magical and non-magical).

3 – To determine if the terms of the Accords have been willfully and deliberately violated by the BMoM.

4 – To assess the feasibility of fully integrating Great Britain’s magical communities into her general population.

5 – If full integration is not possible, to devise and recommend an action plan that will ensure that the BoM and the magical communities within the territories of England, Wales, Scotland, and Ireland are in compliance with the terms of the Accords and with all laws passed by the International Confederation of Wizards (ICW).

6 – To oversee the implementation of these recommendations.

At its inception, the Committee consisted of the following persons:

Martin Bishop, Head of MI-13

Herbert Atkins, Prime Minister of Great Britain (Note: in light of the recent political turmoil, the Committee has agreed that, should Mr. Atkins be asked to step down from his current position, he will retain his place on this Committee. At Her Majesty’s discretion, his replacement may be invited to join the Committee.)

Bernard Stewart (Royal Army, retired) – General Stewart is tasked with advising the Committee on all military matters. 

Geraldine Napier – Mrs. Napier (nee Watkins) is tasked with advising the Committee on economic matters and overseeing its finances. 

Mae Malone – Ms. Malone is tasked with advising the Committee on political maters and will serve as the Committee’s liaison with foreign magical governments.

Dr. David Granger – Dr. Granger is a noted cultural anthropologist who has held teaching positions at several prestigious institutions, both inside and outside the United Kingdom.

Dr. Lillian Granger – Dr. (Mrs.) Granger is a renowned archaeologist, specializing in 17th, 18th, and 19th century artifacts. She has published numerous articles in academic journals, as well as several books for mainstream audiences. (With her permission, Dr. Lillian Granger will be referred to as Mrs. Granger throughout this report, so as to avoid confusion).

Hermione Granger – Miss Granger is the magical daughter of Dr. and Mrs. Granger. At the time the Committee was formed, she was one week shy of her eleventh birthday.

There are those who will (rightly) question the inclusion of a child in this investigation, but it is our hope that this report will adequately explain the reasoning behind this decision. 

At Her Majesty’s direction, all members of the Committee were to be aware of the existence of magic prior to the first meeting of the Committee. This was deemed necessary to ensure that the British non-magical government remains in compliance with rules set forth by the ICW. This report will have much to say about the ICW in future, so we will forego a detailed description of that body at this time and simply state that it is an international organization of magical communities that is somewhat akin to our United Nations.

In the event that representatives from the ICW are reading this report, the members of the Committee hereby attest to the following facts:

  * Atkins was informed about the existence of magic upon his election to the post of Prime Minister by then-Minister of Magic Millicent Bagnold. This was, according to Ms. Bagnold, in accordance with agreements made between the MoM and the Prime Minister’s office some time during the reign of Queen Victoria.
  * Napier became aware of magic when her son, Thomas, received an invitation to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Thomas Napier and his father were both killed in a house fire in June of 1981. The authorities were never able to determine the cause of the fire, but based on information received from the Americans, the investigation has been reopened with a view to ascertaining whether the fire was caused by magical means.
  * Malone’s older sister, Myrtle, began attending Hogwarts in September 1940. She disappeared some time in early 1943. No information was sent to her family and, as non-magicals, they were not granted any means of communication with the magical world beyond that which was initiated by Myrtle herself. Miss Myrtle Malone is presumed deceased.
  * General Stewart became aware of magic during the Second World War, when he participated in the Battle of Britain. While details are unclear at this time, it appears that some magicals disagreed with their government’s decision to stay out of the war. These magicals joined the non-magical military services and (on occasion) used their abilities to aid our cause. Efforts are currently underway to find these brave men and women and to thank them for their service.
  * and Mrs. Granger were informed about the existence of magic after Miss Finn and Mr. Braxton provided evidence that Miss Granger was due to receive her Hogwarts letter on her 11th birthday (September 19, 1990)



The Committee convened for the first time on September 10, 1990. All members were in attendance, save for Miss Granger. At this meeting, Mr. Bishop was able to confirm the following facts:

  * The British magical community has not fulfilled its obligation to regularly deliver personal reports to the Crown since the reign of Charles I. At that time, they began making their reports to the Prime Minister. While this violation of the Accords can be excused owing to possible confusion caused by the Civil War, the fact that the reports the Prime Minister has received are neither regular, complete nor truthful cannot.
  * Magic has been used to tamper with the memories of former Prime Ministers Jones and Burrowes. Atkins, Miss Finn, and Mr. Braxton spoke with both women and neither recall meeting the Minister of Magic, though there is substantial circumstantial evidence to suggest that these meetings took place. The Americans have generously provided Mr. Atkins with an enchanted object that should protect him from similar memory modification.
  * There is also circumstantial, though very compelling, evidence that the magical government has been spying on the Prime Minister’s office by means of an enchanted portrait.
  * The Accords require that the magical government provide the Crown with regular reports concerning population statistics, property claims, and criminal activity. There is no evidence that any such reports have been submitted—either in writing or in person—since the Civil War. Atkins states that he has only encountered representatives of the magical government twice—once, when former Minister of Magic Bagnold informed him of the existence of magic and the magical communities, and once, when current Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, informed him of former Minister Bagnold’s retirement and his own elevation. 
  * Between about 1965 and 1981, a terrorist group gained significant power within magical Britain. This group—known as the “Death Eaters” and acting under the leadership of someone calling himself “Lord Voldemort”—targeted non-magical British citizens, as well as members of the magical community. There is no evidence that this was reported to either the Crown or to the Prime Minister’s office.
  * Citizens of all magical communities are subject to something called the International Statute of Secrecy (ISS). This is a mandate imposed by the ICW that requires all magical communities to keep the secret of magic hidden from the non-magical world and to abide by certain other standards of behavior which will be detailed later in this report. 



Beyond this, all the information we have is hearsay from the Americans. In addition to the facts stated above, they claim that:

  * British wizarding law discriminates against magical citizens born to non-magical parents. These citizens are required to pay higher taxes, are not allowed to participate in the legislature, and face legal restrictions in both their educational and career opportunities.
  * The BMoM is knowingly and willingly aiding and assisting former members of the terrorist group known as the “Death Eaters” in exchange for financial considerations. This assistance includes failure to prosecute former Death Eaters for crimes committed against magical and non-magical citizens prior to 1981.



After discussing both the facts and the rumors, the Committee members resolved to take the following actions:

  1. Bishop and Mr. Atkins volunteered to obtain for the Committee’s use a facility that will serve as a secure base of operations and furnish it accordingly.
  2. Napier agreed to work with Mr. Atkins on securing funds for the Committee’s use. Her Majesty made a generous contribution of <POUND SYMBOL> 10 million. Mr. Bishop agreed to allocate part of MI-13’s budget to the Committee’s use and Mr. Atkins is currently preparing a funding bill for Parliament.
  3. and Mrs. Granger were tasked with gathering as much information as possible about the British magical community and preparing a report for Her Majesty’s review, calling on the expertise of the other Committee members when necessary. To better complete this task, they were permitted to inform their daughter of the Committee’s purpose and agenda.
  4. Malone was assigned to accompany Miss Flinn and Mr. Braxton back to the United States. She is tasked with observing the Magical Congress of the United States (MACUSA) as well as with negotiating the official separation of the magical communities of North America from the British crown. It is our hope that Ms. Malone’s contacts within MACUSA will assist her in visiting the magical governments of other countries, so that we can more accurately assess how well the BMoM functions compared to its counterparts.



**

**Chapter 1**

(From _A Preliminary Survey…_ )

**An Introduction to Magic**

( _Note_ – Whenever possible, the authors of this report have chosen to make use of the words and phrases most commonly used by the magical population of the United Kingdom. They have, however, elected to refrain from including known pejoratives except for the purposes of definition.)

_Magic_ – Magic is a form of energy that can be used to manipulate all aspect of the known world. Magic is used to perform tasks that humans cannot (or will not) perform themselves, with or without the aid of modern technology. This report will have much to say about the many different types of magic, but what is important to know about all of them is that one must be capable of harnessing and wielding this power in order to perform these actions. 

There is currently no known way of acquiring this ability—either one is born with it or one is not. Based on census data obtained from the BMoM (without their knowledge) and from the magical governments of 39 other countries, we estimate that approximately 1% of the Earth’s population is born with this ability. Members of the Committee have theorized that those born with the capacity to use magic have a slight genetic difference from those who are not. We currently have no way of testing this hypothesis, both because the Committee does not currently have a geneticist among its members and because social and cultural taboos within the magical world would prevent us from acquiring blood samples to use in testing.

However, a strong case can be made that the ability to use magic can be traced to a genetic source. Magical people live noticeably longer than non-magical people—the average life span of a healthy witch or wizard is about 130 years and there is anecdotal evidence suggesting that some have lived as long as 200 years. Furthermore, this ability can be passed on from parent to child and can lie dormant for several generations before it appears again. Such is the case with Miss Granger. Her great-grandfather was the non-magical son of a wizard named Hector Dagworth-Granger. 

_Witch_ – A female human possessed of the ability to use magic.

_Wizard_ – A male human possessed of the ability to use magic.

It should be noted that the magical population almost exclusively uses the words _wizard_ and _witch_ to refer to themselves. They do not use gender-neutral nouns in the way we use the words “people,” “human,” or “humanity.” A group consisting of both genders will always be referred to as “witches and wizards,” never as simply “wizards” or “magicals.”

_Wizarding_ – Adjective often used to describe people, places or things that belong to magical communities. For example, you might refer to “wizarding society” or “wizarding literature.” This term is often used interchangeably with “magical.” However, _wizarding_ usually connotes people, places, and things that are specifically British.

**

No matter how old he was or how jaded he became, Severus Snape always felt a sense of wonder when he encountered some new piece of magic. Take the Hogwarts letters. As a teenager, he’d always assumed that they were written and delivered by the elves attached to the school. He’d only learned the truth a few days ago when Minerva had asked him to stand in for her on a Muggleborn home visit.

“This is the Registry Scroll.” She said, showing him the item in question. “It was created by the Founders and it is imbued with very powerful magic. On it is the name of every magical child born in the British isles, along with their date of birth. On each child’s eleventh birthday, a parchment appears here…” she indicated a raised dais “with the student’s name and address. I use a DictaQuill to write their letter, then I sign it, add a supply list and tap the parchment with my wand. It folds itself into an envelope and addresses itself. Green ink means the child is from a magical home, blue ink means he or she is a Muggleborn. The parchment is a Portkey, so do not touch it unless or until you are prepared to go somewhere. If the child lives in a magical home, I drop one of these stones on it and it appears in the child’s bedroom or wherever he or she spends the most time. If the child is a Muggleborn, I use the Portkey to travel to their location to deliver the letter personally. I come down here once a week and check the next few names to see whether I will need to schedule a Muggleborn visit. I do so enjoy those….” Her voice trailed off wistfully.

“Albus should be back by Saturday night.” Severus suggested. “You could always go on Sunday morning. It’s not like waiting a day will do any harm….” Minerva was already shaking her head.

“Both Albus and the Ministry have made themselves very clear on this subject.” She didn’t bother to hide her disapproval. “Muggleborn children _must_ receive their invitations to Hogwarts on their eleventh birthdays. The trips to Diagon Alley can wait until the summer holidays—we usually take all the muggleborns together so that they can start to get to know one another—but the letter _must_ be delivered. It’s absolutely maddening that Albus chose _now_ of all times to go haring off on one of his mysterious trips.”

“To be fair, it _is_ rather early in the school year for this to be coming up.” Severus pointed out. “You usually don’t make one of these visits until November or December.”

“Mmm.” Minerva nodded. “But I _told_ him three days ago that this was coming up and he said nothing to me at the time...” She sighed. “Oh well. I feel rather badly for Miss Granger. She’ll have to wait nearly a year before she can come here and do magic properly.

Thus it was that on the morning of September 19, Severus (with Minerva at his side) made his way to the Register room, hidden deep within Hogwarts, and picked up the envelope addressed to:

_Miss H. Granger_

_The Library_

_#2 Brownlee Lane_

_Croton-on Exe, Devon_

“The girl doesn’t have a bedroom?” he asked, his eyebrow arched. Minerva laughed.

“The letter is addressed to the place the child spends the most time. Usually, it’s their bedroom, though Augustus Fleamont’s letter was addressed to ‘the Kitchen.’”

“I’m not surprised.” Severus rolled his eyes. Fleamont was a sixth year Hufflepuff who was roughly the size and shape of one of Hagrid’s melons and had, in Severus’ opinion, about as much intelligence. 

Glancing one final time at Minerva, Severus grasped the envelope with one hand and felt the familiar jerk behind his navel before the room disappeared.

This Portkey deposited him in front of a large house at the end of a country lane. Glancing around to make sure he hadn’t been spotted, Severus glared at the envelope in his hand.

“Apparently, discretion wasn’t one of the Founders’ priorities.” He muttered. Depositing the letter into his pocket (Minerva had assured him that the Portkey charm would dissipate after one use), he pushed open the gate and strode up the neatly graveled walk towards the front door.

Even as a child, Severus had always been observant. After seven years in Slytherin, his natural talent had been developed into a finely honed skill—one that had saved his life on more than one occasion, both during and after the war. He had worked long and hard to make it a habit and had succeeded to the point where he now routinely noted and catalogued his observations without conscious thought.

The Granger’s house was large, but not ostentatiously so. It was also old. Severus was no expert in architecture, but he guessed that the building had been put up some time during the reign of Queen Anne and had been very well-maintained ever since. The lawn was impeccably manicured and there were several flowerbeds filled with late-summer blooms. There was no debris scattered around the door, but someone had attached a tiny fairy door to one of the trees. There were no cars in the driveway. In fact, Severus couldn’t see any driveway. He could, however, see a low building some ways off in the distance that looked like a garage.

Putting it all together, Severus concluded that the Grangers had money. More than that, they were “old money.” Even as a snot-nosed firstie, he’d noticed that people who took wealth for granted were far less inclined to flaunt it than those for whom wealth was a relatively new thing. This house reminded him of Xavier and Amanda Greengrass’ house far more than it did Malfoy Manor. Severus guessed that the Grangers would be almost aggressively informal, even eccentric. He wondered how that had affected their daughter. Eccentric didn’t go over too well at Hogwarts.

As he approached the door, it opened and a woman and girl emerged. Both had brown hair, though the woman’s was shorter and noticeably less frizzy than the girl’s. The woman was carrying gloves and a bucket full of gardening tools, while the girl held a watering can.

“Oh!” The woman looked startled. “Can I help you?”

“Mrs. Granger?”

“Yes…..?” Severus noted that the woman had not fully closed the door behind her. In the event that she and her daughter needed to escape into the house, there was nothing to hinder them. He approved of such precautions.

“Good morning, madam. My name is Severus Snape. I represent a school for gifted students and I’ve come to offer a place to your daughter, Hermione.” Severus couldn’t help but feel smug when he recalled how Minerva had butchered the poor girl’s name. He made a mental note to warn Hermione that this was bound to be a regular occurrence at Hogwarts. “May I come in?”

“A school? Really? What’s it called? What….” The girl’s eyes shone with excitement and she only subsided when her mother put a hand on her shoulder.

“Forgive my bluntness, but how did you find us?” The woman looked highly suspicious and Severus couldn’t blame her one bit. Lily’s parents had had much the same reaction when Minerva had first approached them. Minerva had confessed that it was fairly typical and that she’d petitioned both Albus and the Ministry to allow her to send a letter of introduction before these visits. All her requests had been flatly denied on what she considered to be the flimsiest of excuses.

“I realize that this is…irregular, but I can assure you that my intentions are entirely above-board.” Severus said, doing his best to emulate Lucius Malfoy’s smooth charm. The woman hesitated, then nodded, though she still looked rather suspicious. 

“All right. Hermione, please fetch your father while I show Mr. Snape to the library.”

“All right, Mum.” The girl darted into the house and Severus followed her mother in at a more sedate pace. The woman shut the door, then turned to face him.

“I’m Lillian Granger, by the way.” She said, shifting gloves and bucket into one hand and extending the other.

“A pleasure to meet you.” Severus shook it. “Thank you for taking the time to speak with me.”

“I’m rather looking forward to it, actually.” Severus could not quite put his finger on why that seemingly innocuous statement made him rather uneasy. Lillian led him down a long hallway and through a set of double doors. Severus took two steps into the room and stopped, is jaw hanging open. Some small part of his mind chided him for acting like a firstie seeing the ceiling in the Great Hall for the first time, but the rest of him was too busy staring at the books to care. 

Severus had seen privileged to wander through some of best private libraries in wizarding Britain—including those belonging to the Greengrasses, the Entwhistles, and the Bulstrodes. This library put them all to shame. 

Lillian led him to one corner of the room where two comfortable looking chairs and a couch had been grouped around a low table. Severus was amused to notice that there was a small refrigerator tucked into one corner next to a cabinet that held an electric tea kettle, teabags and cups. Clearly, the Granger family spent most of their time in this room. After settling him in one of the chairs, she turned the kettle on and began pulling out tea things. After a moment, Hermione returned followed by a short, rather portly man.

“Daddy, this is Mr. Snape. Mr. Snape, this is my father, Dr. David Granger.” Hermione made the introductions and Severus stood to shake the man’s hand. A brief glance at David Granger told him all he needed to know—the man was, in many ways, the Muggle equivalent of Arthur Weasley. It was clear from his casual appearance and messy, blond hair that he was someone who wasn’t particularly fussed about what others thought of him, but beneath the exterior of the slightly dotty underachiever lay a mind that was as sharp as any steel trap.

“So, Mr. Snape, Hermione says you’re here to talk to us about a school for the gifted?”

“Yes.” Severus nodded, taking his seat again. “To begin with, I think I’d better explain exactly which gifts I’m referring to. You see, your daughter is a witch….” 

Three and a half hours later, Severus left the Granger house, feeling as tired as he had after completing his Mastery exams. As he made his way towards a nearby grove of trees (just because the Founders didn’t understand discretion didn’t mean he was going to be stupid), he considered what he’d learned about his future student and her family. 

His supposition about the Grangers’ wealth had been correct. Though nothing had been directly mentioned, he’d managed to glean enough from off-hand remarks to learn that David Granger was the youngest son of an aristocrat and, thus, had begun his family with a sizeable inheritance. More importantly, he and his wife had earned much of their current fortune by their own labors. To do that took a great deal of determination, drive, and focus—qualities that their daughter had clearly inherited.

Severus knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that Hermione Granger was possessed of extraordinary intellectual gifts. She’d displayed a grasp of logic that often eluded witches and wizards three times her age and had managed to make some rather impressive leaps in deduction. She’d shown an avid interest in a wide range of topics, none of which—thank Merlin!—were related to Quidditch. Both she and her mother had expressed dismay when he’d told them that Hogwarts did not teach non-magical subjects and they’d been even more distressed when she’d discovered how many magical subjects were absent from the Hogwarts curriculum. Not that Severus disagreed with them…. He’d also been pleased to see that Hermione was interested in the practical applications of what she would learn beyond simply taking her exams. He had shamelessly extolled the many virtues of a solid foundation in Potions and had been gratified by her sincere interest and enthusiasm.

What was more, it was evident that her parents were possessed of similar gifts. While Severus hadn’t inquired too closely into their professions, he had heard enough to know that both of the Drs. Granger were academics and, most likely, were experts in their chosen fields of study. All three had asked intelligent questions that went far beyond what Minerva had prepared him for. They’d wanted to know about more than just the school and the classes—they’d wanted to know _everything_ about the wizarding world…and they’d wanted details. Severus had been forced to dredge the furthest reaches of his memory to answer questions about history, the economy, the government…even spiritual beliefs. Each answer had only led to more questions and Severus had soon found himself totally out of his depth. However, the interrogation had led him to three conclusions.

First, his comparison of David Granger to Arthur Weasley was quite…apt. Beneath the exterior of the eccentric academic, the man had a mind that ran down paths that were exceedingly familiar to Severus. Had he been born with magic, Severus had no doubt that he would have been sorted into Slytherin. In fact, David Granger would put the current crop of snakelets to shame. Severus had no doubt that the man had gotten as much—if not more—from their conversation than Severus himself.

The second thing Severs had concluded was that, unless matters were taken in hand, Hermione Granger’s years at Hogwarts would be miserable. The combination of her prodigious intellect, her self-confidence, and her complete lack of awareness regarding how she presented herself to others was a potent brew that was bound to have explosive social results. It was the same combination that had led to his own difficulties and Severus was astute enough to recognize that the environment at Hogwarts had not changed one iota since his student days. The school was desperately understaffed, the children had far too much free time on their hands, and the administration relied too heavily on the points system to enforce discipline because they simply didn’t have the time to properly ensure that the little monsters were treating each other with basic civility.

Pulling his mind back to the matter at hand, Severus considered his third—and most troubling—conclusion. Somehow, the adult Grangers had known to expect his visit and the invitation to Hogwarts. They hadn’t said so, of course, and he had to admire their acting abilities, but they’d _known_. Their acceptance of the existence of magic had been just a little too quick. Their questions had been just a bit too well thought out. Severus had briefly debated using legillimency to determine the source of their knowledge, but had decided against it.

The truth was that he liked the Grangers. They were intelligent, possessed of both common sense and a dry sense of humor, and were refreshingly down-to-earth. They clearly adored their daughter and, more importantly, their love was unconditional. They embraced who she was and what she could do, even if they didn’t fully understand it, and they seemed prepared to go to any lengths to ensure their daughter’s welfare and happiness. Love like that could spoil a child (James Potter was a prime example), but when it was tempered with good judgement, it could also move mountains. 

And it wasn’t just the Granger parents that Severus liked. Hermione was brilliant, self-confident and mature in many ways her peers were not. Severus was certain that, no matter what her parents did or didn’t know, she had been completely surprised by his visit and her excitement and curiosity were both genuine and boundless. Given her maturity, some off-hand comments she and her parents had made and the way all three of them had become slightly wary when discussing other magical children, Severus suspected that Hermione had few, if any, friends her own age. The girl had a slight overbite and was just on the cusp of what promised to be an rather awkward adolescence. When that was combined with her intellectual prowess, her complete openness about said intellectual prowess, and her Muggle upbringing, Severus had no trouble imagining the sorts of bullying and harassment she’d be in for when she arrived at Hogwarts. From what he’d seen, her parents’ thoughts had run in the same direction. Perhaps he’d offer some advice when they all went to Diagon Alley tomorrow….

As he stepped into the copse of trees and made one last visual sweep of the area before Apparating back to Hogsmeade, Severus pushed his suspicions concerning the Grangers out of his mind. What did it matter if they had somehow found out about the magical world? It wasn’t like they could do anything about it.

**

Something was wrong.

Even as her mind raced with all the possibilities that had just been dropped in her lap, Hermione knew something was wrong. Her father’s posture had been stiff and tense as he’d left the room to escort Mr Snape… _Professor Snape_ …to the door. Her mother was smiling at her, but the smile didn’t reach her eyes. And there was the fact that both her parents had _lied…_ either to the Professor or to her.

Hermione focused on the pamphlets Professor Snape had given her while she waited for her father to return. Whatever was bothering her parents, they would tell her in their own time. In the meantime, se absently pulled her notebook from its usual spot (tucked securely between the seat cushion and the arm of her chair), plucked the cap off a pen, and began making a list of topics she wanted to read up on. Professor Snape was taking them to the wizarding shopping district tomorrow and she wanted to be ready.

She had barely managed to write down five things when her father returned. The expectant silence was oppressive.

“Hermione….love…we need to talk.” Her mother said, gently. Hermione felt her chest tighten with fear.

“What’s wrong?” she asked then, but before they could answer, she continued on in a rush. “You are going to let me go to Hogwarts and learn magic, aren’t you?”

“Easy, sweetheart.” Her father tried his best to smile at her. “You’re going to Hogwarts, don’t worry about that, but we need to talk to you about some of the things Mr. Snape….”

“Professor Snape, Dad.” 

“ _Professor_ Snape.” He corrected himself. “We need to talk to you about some of the things he said…and some of the things he didn’t say. You see, your Mum and I had a meeting while we were in London last week.”

“Okay.” Hermione was now thoroughly confused. Whatever was bothering her parents was connected with Professor Snape’s visit. She was sure of it. So why were they talking about a meeting in London? Unbidden, the answer came to her and she blurted out the first question that came to her mind. “Does this have anything to do with how you knew I was a witch before Professor Snape got here?”

“What?” Her parents stared at her in shock and Hermione had to resist the urge to roll her eyes. For such smart people, they could sometimes be rather….well….stupid.

“How….how did you know?” Her mother stammered.

“It was _obvious_. You didn’t ask the Professor anything about the school’s accreditation or his teaching qualifications or even to prove that Hogwarts is a real school! Plus, you didn’t ask for proof when he said that magic was real.” 

“Yes, we did.” Her father protested. “That’s when he turned the lamp into a pineapple and then made your mother’s teacup sprout arms and legs and do cartwheels across the table, remember?”

“He did that after _I_ asked him to prove that magic was real. _You_ didn’t say anything.” Hermione saw her parents exchange glances. They both looked rather guilty..

“All right, you caught us.” Though her tone was mournful, Hermione could see that her mother was fighting the urge to smile. “Your Dad and I met with a group of government people who are very interested in the magical world. There were two Americans at the meeting, including the Deputy Headmaster of the Salem Institute of Sorcery. It turns out that, because you were born in the United States, you showed up on their rolls as well as the rolls for Hogwarts. That’s why they contacted us.”

“Why did the government people want to meet with you?” Hermione asked. Her parents looked at one another again and her father cleared his throat.

“Well, sweetheart, according to a treaty signed between the Crown and the magical people, their government is supposed to keep _our_ government informed about things that are going on in their world and they’re supposed to make sure that magical people have the same rights and follow most of the same laws as non-magical people. According to the Americans, the British magical government hasn’t been as….er….thorough in their reports as they ought to have been and they haven’t been following some of the rules that were agreed on when the treaty was signed.” Hermione thought about this for a moment before responding.

“Is that why you were asking Professor Snape all those questions about my career options?”

“Yes.” Her mother nodded fervently. “The Americans told us that, because your Dad and I aren’t magical, you won’t have as many opportunities as the children who grew up in magical homes. You may also have to pay more in taxes than them. The Americans also said that some of those so-called ‘pure-bloods’ don’t get punished when they break the law.” Hermione opened her mouth, prepared to expound on all the reasons why this was absolutely horrible, but her father cut her off before she could begin.

“It’s not right and her Majesty and the Prime Minister know that it isn’t right. They want to fix things so that all magical people have the same opportunities and have to play by the same rules.” He said. “But before they can do that, they have to know everything possible about the magical world. From what we’ve heard, magical people have their own history, culture, beliefs, and traditions. They’re just as old and rich as ours, but they are very different. It wouldn’t be right for her Majesty to just go in and insist that they all chuck that and start living like us, now would it?”

“No.” Hermione shook her head. “So she wants to find out more about them?”

“That’s right.” Her mother paused to pour herself another cup of tea. “All we really know is what the Americans told us and that really wasn’t much—mostly just rumors and speculation. Our government has set up a team of people to research the magical world in Britain and to lean about how magical people do things in other countries so we have some basis for comparison. Your father and I were asked to join that team because of our areas of expertise. The trouble is that magical people—all of them, not just those in this country—are very invested in keeping the fact that magic exists a secret from the rest of us. You heard Professor Snape—they have all sorts of spells to keep themselves and the places where they live and work hidden. So we need your help.”

“My help? What do you think I could….oh!” The bottom dropped out of Hermione’s stomach. 

“The Committee agrees with your mother and me that your role in all this will be very limited until you are at least 18 years old.” Her father said, sternly. “But, the fact is that you are going to be able to gather a lot more information than your mother and I can. You will get to talk to a wide variety of people and ask questions that we can’t or shouldn’t. As Professor Snape said, Hogwarts has the largest magical library in Europe and we have no idea what kind of books we’ll be able to find on Diagon Alley.”

“But I don’t know what to do….” Hermione could feel the rising tide of panic threatening to overwhelm her. “I’ve never done an anthropological study before.”

“You don’t need to worry about that right now.” Her mother reassured her. “Your father and I have a whole year to teach you everything you need to know about conducting a proper survey. But we wanted a chance to tell you all of this before you see or hear or read anything about the magical world. That’s why we told Professor Snape that we were having dinner with your Aunt tonight. Tomorrow, when we go to Diagon Alley, we want you to keep your eyes, your ears, and your mind open. If you see or hear something you don’t understand, make a note of it and, if he seems amenable, ask Professor Snape about it. Your father and I will be doing the same thing.” She paused for a moment. “However, I do think we should hold off on getting your schoolbooks and your wand until next summer.”

“What?” Hermione blinked in surprise. “Why? I could learn ever so many spells between now and next September…maybe I won’t be so far behind everyone else….”

“Sweetie, you’re not going to be behind everyone else. Children aren’t allowed to use magic outside of school, remember?” Her mother said patiently.

“Your mother’s right. No textbooks and no wands.” Hermione turned accusing eyes towards her father, but he looked thoughtful. “Judging by what Professor Snape said, Hogwarts is, for all intents and purposes, a trade school. All the classes seem to be geared towards teaching some sort of applied magic and those exams pretty much determine what career paths you can pursue. Right now, it’s more important for you to learn about things like history, language, manners, philosophy, and culture than it is for you to learn how to…I don’t know….make a radish tap-dance.”

“Who would want to make a radish tap-dance?” Hermione laughed.

“I don’t know.” Her dad shrugged. “But do you see my point?”

“Yes, I suppose.” Hermione examined her book list. “But I do think we ought to get _Magical Theory_ and _A History of Magic_ now.”

“Agreed.” Her mother nodded. She smiled, mischievously. “In case I forgot to mention this, the Committee has agreed to underwrite all expenses incurred in the acquisition of research materials.”

“I don’t understand…” Hermione’s brow furrowed as she tried to puzzle out her mother’s meaning.

“We’re going to have to buy books….lots and lots and lots of books. And the government has agreed to pay for every single one of them.” Hermione’s delighted gasp almost drowned out her father’s groan.

“You two do _not_ have permission to bankrupt the country!”

It was very fortunate that Hermione’s birthday fell on a Saturday as she and her parents had a lot to talk about. They talked well into the evening, making plans and discussing possible research topics and strategies for information gathering. What struck Hermione was the amount of trust she was being shown, both by her parents and by the other members of the Committee on Arcane Affairs. They were giving her a great deal of responsibility and, because she would be on her own at Hogwarts, they were relying on her to do her work thoroughly, competently, and completely.

To Hermione’s surprise (and secret delight), her parents announced that they had decided to pull her out of school.

“You’re far ahead of your year and you’ll have to start self-study once you get to Hogwarts, anyway.” Her father said. Hermione agreed—she had planned on using her summer holidays to keep up with her non-magical education. “It would be different if you had any close friends, but….” He trailed off, sounding rather awkward. Hermione felt the all-too-familiar flush of shame and privately resolved that things would be different at Hogwarts.

“What are you going to tell people?” she asked, eager to change the topic. It was a valid question—after all, the school year had already started and pulling her out now was bound to cause comment.

“Here…” Her mother handed her a glossy brochure from boarding school in Switzerland. “We’re going to tell people that you’ve been accepted to this school for the gifted, but that you need to be fluent in French before you can attend. That’s why we’re pulling you out of regular school. As far as the world is concerned, you will be studying at home while participating in an exclusive language immersion program.” Another glossy brochure was passed over. Hermione was tempted to dive into both of them, but decided against it. If she was going to help her parents with her report, she was going to have to focus all her attention on learning about anthropology and the magical world.

**

**Blood-Status: What it is and its Impact on the British Wizarding World**

British magical society does not appear to make legal, social, or economic distinctions between its members based on race or ethnicity. Rather, it differentiates them by their lineage and whether or not their ancestors were magical. To begin with, we will define terms that are commonly used throughout British wizarding society.

_Muggle_ – This is the word that British witches and wizards use to refer to people, places or things that are not magical. It can be used as either a noun or an adjective. For example, with the exception of Miss Granger, all members of the Committee are _muggles_. To a witch or wizard, an automobile is a _muggle_ invention. 

It should be noted that _muggle_ is not a universally accepted term. There are those who feel that this term carries with it the implication that non-magical peoples are inferior, primitive, and/or child-like. Efforts have been made to encourage use of the terms “mundane” or “non-magical” but those efforts have, to date, been largely unsuccessful.

_Muggleborn_ – A witch or wizard who is the child of two muggle parents. Miss Hermione Granger is a _muggleborn_. This term is often used interchangeably as a noun or adjective. For example, Miss Granger can simply be called a _muggleborn_ or she can be referred to as a _muggleborn witch_.

This report includes a close examination of the role muggleborn witches and wizards play in British magical society, but the following facts should be made clear at the outset:

  * Muggleborns make up approximately 20% of the British magical population.
  * Records obtained from the Hogwarts Register, the BMoM and the ICW indicate that this percentage has remained largely consistent for at least the last two centuries.
  * Data we received from other countries indicate that the percentage is the same world-wide.



_Half-blood_ – A phrase referring to a witch or wizard whose recent ancestry contains at least one muggle or muggleborn. There is some disagreement within the British wizarding community about how far back a person’s ancestry must be entirely magical before they are no longer considered a half-blood. The general consensus (and the legal definition used by the BMoM) is three generations, but there are those who insist that the limit should be set at ten generations.

_Pure-blood_ – A witch or wizard who lacks muggle or muggleborn ancestors going back at least three generations.

_Squib_ – A non-magical person born to magical parents. While this is not, technically, considered to be a pejorative term, witches and wizards often use it to insult other witches and wizards whom they dislike.

_Mudblood_ – A pejorative term used to refer to muggleborn witches and wizards. It is meant to suggest that their blood is dirty and, therefore, not pure.

_House_ – This word has three distinct meanings in wizarding Britain:

1 – a building in which serves as the primary residential dwelling for a person, a family, or a small group of people.

2 – A prominent wizarding family. For example, one might refer to the House of Black or the House of Longbottom.

3 – A student’s primary social and educational peer group at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. (This definition will be explained and expanded upon in our discussion of magical education.)

_Ancient and Most Noble House_ – A title used by some families to denote social and political prominence. Those who belong to the Ancient and Most Noble Houses hold the same authority and status in contemporary wizarding society as titled aristocrats held in Great Britain up the early 19th century.

It should be noted that half-blood witches and wizards are legally prohibited from referring to themselves as members of Houses, unless they are the acknowledged offspring of a member of an existing House. Muggleborns are not allowed to use the designation under any circumstances.

**

_September 20, 1990_

On reflection, Severus was glad that the Grangers’ prior commitment had forced him to wait a day before escorting them to Diagon Alley. The delay had given him the opportunity to carefully review their conversation and to reach some decisions about how he was going to use the trip to set Hermione up to have the best possible chance of succeeding in the magical world.

As a child, Severus had accompanied Lily Evans and her parents on their first visit to the Alley, since his mother had refused to set even one toe inside the magical world. They had all been escorted by Minerva McGonagall who—though she had been a knowledgeable and enthusiastic guide and had willingly answered all their questions—had not shared some information that Severus felt every Muggleborn or -raised child should know before he or she got on the Hogwarts Express. This was not, he was sure, due to any sort of prejudice on her part. Rather, as someone raised in a magical household, Minerva took certain things for granted. It simply never occurred to her that certain facts and ideas would seem completely alien to someone who grew up outside of Britain’s isolated magical community.

Take, for instance, the goblins. Those who grew up in the magical world were so used to the very fact that goblins existed that they tended not to think about them unless they wanted to make a withdrawal from their vaults. Muggleborns, on the other hand, were always astonished at the very idea of creatures that were clearly not human, but could walk, talk, and engage in the most complicated of financial transactions. Thus, a muggleborn’s first trip to Gringotts usually involved a lot of pointing and staring. The inevitable results of this were sneers from goblins and other bank patrons alike. It was all so easily preventable—if one knew that there was an issue.

Of course, there were problems besides this cultural “blindness” that had to be dealt with. Minerva had enlightened him when she’d first asked him to be her “understudy.”

“The Ministry has very strict rules and regulations concerning what can and cannot be said during a new student’s introduction to the wizarding world.” In Severus’ opinion, Minerva’s scowl would have made even the most hardened Death Eater take a step or two backwards. “I am required to show the magical world in the best light possible and to ignore—or, in some cases, to outright lie about—some of our society’s…less appealing characteristics.”

Then she’d told him why the Ministry went to so much trouble. Severus had been appalled and rather astonished that the muggleborns hadn’t incited a rebellion.

“Most of them don’t know the full extent of how badly they are being treated.” Minerva explained. “When I assumed the responsibility of delivering the letters to the muggleborns, I was told, quite plainly, that the Ministry does not care what happens to the children after they are Sorted, but that every care must be taken to ensure that they reach their Sorting. You’ll find that all the shopkeepers you encounter will become far more friendly and cheerful than usual—almost to the point of being obnoxious—and not even the most foul-mouthed bigot will not say a word against your charge. The fines the Ministry levies are quite large and not even Lucius Malfoy would be able to wiggle his way out of paying them if he was to violate these particular statutes.” Minerva had also related, in great detail, what fate awaited him should he stray too far from the Ministry’s script. 

Still, there was nothing in any of those ridiculous laws that said that Severus couldn’t tell Hermione a few things that might make her transition to Hogwarts a bit easier. That was why, when he met the Grangers just inside the door to the Leaky Cauldron, he proposed that they begin their excursion with a bit of lunch.

“I took the liberty of asking Tom to provide us with some of the food and drink that is commonly served at Hogwarts.” He explained, after introducing them to the pub’s cheerful, toothless owner.

“Do witches and wizards eat different foods than non-magical people?” David Granger asked. Severus saw that both Lillian and Hermione had small notebooks and pens in hand and were paying rapt attention to this words.

“For the most part, no, although you will find that the average British witch or wizard’s palate is somewhat…less adventurous than that of the average Muggle. The food at Hogwarts tends to be traditional British fare—it’s very well prepared, mind you, but rather…uninspired.”

“So, no curry then?” Severus saw Lillian’s slight smile at her daughter’s gasp of dismay.

“I’m afraid not. You also won’t find much in the way of fresh fruits or vegetables.” All three Grangers looked shocked at this, though the elder two were better at hiding it than Hermione was.

“Is that a…cultural choice or are the nutritional needs of witches and wizards different than those of non-magical people?” Lillian asked.

“A bit of both, really. Our bodies require the same nutrients, but using magic burns calories in much the same way physical activity does. It is…rare…to see an adult witch or wizard who is overweight.” Severus smirked. “It is also rare to see an adult witch or wizard who you would describe as physically fit. Magic…well, it can compensate for any deficiencies in our nutrition and actively works to correct any physical defects, whether they are caused by illness or injury. Three are also many spells and potions that can heal or cure those things that our own magic can’t. As a result of all of this, most witches and wizards know little and care less about things like diet and exercise. What they do not realize Is that magic can only do so much. Failure to take care of oneself has its consequences for us, just as it does for you.”

There was a pause as Tom approached, carrying a tray of beverages. Four plates, piled high with food, were floating behind him. Severus smirked as he watched the Grangers’ awed expressions.

“This is pumpkin juice.” He pointed to Hermione’s goblet. Hermione took a tentative sip and attempted to hide a grimace is disgust.

“It’s very…sweet.” She said, obviously trying to be diplomatic. Emma took a sip from her own goblet and was no more successful in hiding her displeasure than her daughter had been.

“It is.” Severus nodded. “I, myself, found it an…an acquired taste when I was your age. However, I strongly suggest that you become accustomed to it, as it is the served at every meal at Hogwarts.. Most children from magical homes grow up drinking it, so objections to the flavor are…rare.” It was clear from the way David and Lillian’s eyes narrowed slightly that they had heard his unspoken message: _Complaining about the pumpkin juice will mark you as an outsider_. Severus was pleasantly surprised to see that, after a moment’s thought, Hermione also grasped his meaning. She eyed the goblet for a moment and then, with a look of fierce determination, took another drink. Severus nodded in approval.

“After breakfast, we will venture out onto Diagon Alley, which is, as I said yesterday, Britain’s largest magical shopping district.”

“The shops are all on one street?” Lillian looked puzzled.

“Well, no.” Severus admitted. “However, the entire area is usually referred to as Diagon Alley, much as a Muggle neighborhood might be referred to by the name of its most prominent street. This district is made up of five streets: Diagon Alley, Knockturn Alley, Whisper Lane, Goldenrod Court, and Flutterby Square. We will only be visiting Diagon Alley today and, until you are of age, Miss Granger, I suggest you limit your explorations to Diagon Alley and Whisper Lane.”

“Why?” Severus was pleased to note that the girl sounded curious, rather than put out at being told she couldn’t go somewhere.

“Goldenrod Court and Flutterby Square are residential areas. The inhabitants value their privacy and do not appreciate uninvited guests.” Severus did not mention that, since most of those inhabitants were pure-bloods, their lack of appreciation could well take the form of lethal hexes. He paused, considering how to couch his next words in such a way as to convince the Grangers to stay off of Knockturn Alley without alarming them unduly. “While Knockturn Alley has a number of excellent shops that specialize in hard-to-find items, it caters to those who prefer to use forms of magic that, in the opinion of many, are…morally dubious. Unfortunately, due to the actions of a few, the entirety of Knockturn Alley has earned a reputation for catering to so-called ‘Dark’ wizards and, as so often happens, reputation shaped reality.”

“In other words, Knockturn Alley is where people go when they don’t want other people to know what they’re up to.” David was smirking, but there was an unsettling glint in his eyes.

“Precisely. As Muggles, you and Lillian would be unable to protect yourselves, in the event of trouble, and Hermione would be almost as helpless right now.” All three Grangers nodded at this.

“What about Whisper Lane?” Hermione asked.

“Ah,” Severus was relieved to have navigated that particular difficulty so easily. “Whisper Lane has a number of lovely little shops, but they sell luxury items, rather than the things one needs for day-to-day living. Should you ever find yourself in need of professional services—an attorney, for examp;le—he or she will most likely have their offices there, as well.”

“So, for now, we’re staying on Diagon Alley.” The look Lillian gave her husband and daughter made it clear that she would not tolerate any argument on this point.

“Indeed. Now, for reasons of security, there is only one public entrance to Diagon Alley and that is behind this pub. That entrance can only be accessed by a witch or wizard, so should you wish to return after today, Miss Granger, you will need your wand…” Hermione gave a happy little gasp and Severus saw that both her parents looked rather resigned. Severus pinned the girl with his gaze.

“Miss Granger, in case I did not make myself perfectly clear yesterday, there are very strict rules regarding the use of magic by underage witches and wizards. There are certain things—like accessing Diagon Alley—that you are permitted to do, but if you cast a spell, you _will_ be caught and the consequences could be quite severe.”

“What are the consequences for doing underage magic?” David asked. Severus wondered whether he was asking to satisfy his own curiosity or to give his daughter a bit of a fright. In the end, he decided, it didn’t really matter.

“As incidents of underage magic risk violation of the Statute of Secrecy, they are taken quite seriously. A first-time offender receives an official warning from the Ministry, which is placed in their file. After a second offense, an underage witch or wizard accused of using magic will be required to attend a hearing with the Director of Magical Law Enforcement, who will administer punishment. She has the authority to confiscate and snap an underage witch or wizard’s wand and, if that witch or wizard does not yet have his or her wand rights, this would, in essence, amount to exile from the magical world.”

“Wand rights?” Hermione asked as she dutifully took another sip of the pumpkin juice.

“A young witch or wizard is granted what we refer to as ‘wand rights’ after he or she has taken—and passed—their O.W.L. exams. You will take those at the end of your fifth year. Passing those exams signifies to the Ministry—and to society as a whole—that you have gained control over your magic.”

“So, what you’re saying is that, until she takes her exams, Hermione is…on probation?” Lillian asked.

“Yes, that’s a very good way to think of it. All students come of age at some point during their sixth year, so the rules regarding underage magic no longer apply to them. At that point, expulsion from Hogwarts carries a social stigma, but no legal consequences.”

“Well,” Richard took a sip of his tea “since I’m sure Hermione does not want to be expelled, her mother and I will hold on to her wand until she goes to school.”

“An excellent idea.” 

“What other things am I permitted to do with my wand now?” Hermione looked almost painfully eager.

“As I said, you may use it to access Diagon Alley. You may also use it for any action that does not require active magic—for instance, you may wish to buy a trunk that has a shrinking charm embedded in it. In that case, you would tap it with your wand to make it larger or smaller. You can also use your wand to summon the Knight Bus without fear of consequences. The Knight Bus…” Severus added, before there was a scrum to see who could ask the question first “is a magical transportation that can take you anywhere in the British Isles. Personally, I do not recommend summoning it as your travel time will vary widely depending on the number of passengers and the ride itself is quite…uncomfortable.” He saw Lillian jot another note down on her pad and wondered if she was going to have enough paper to get through the day.

“Right.” She murmured. “Our apologies, Professor Snape, we seem to have gotten rather off topic. You were telling us about Diagon Alley?”

“Yes. Our first stop will be Gringotts Wizarding Bank. As I told you yesterday, the bank is run by goblins. They look rather…unusual, but they do not appreciate that fact being point out. They also do not believe in wasting time. You may find their manner to be abrupt, but I advise you to remain polite and respectful at all times. After you exchange money, I will escort you to Ollivander’s so that Miss Granger can get her wand.”

“Other than some books, we weren’t actually planning on picking up too many things today.” David said. “Is there any reason we can’t—or shouldn’t—come back here next summer?”

“No reason at all.” Severus replied. All three Grangers seemed relieved by that, for some reason. “I will be happy to give you some recommendations, but I strongly encourage you to spend some time exploring the Alley and learning as much about our world before next September.”

Silence descended as all four members of their party concentrated on their food. Finally, David pushed his plate away and cleared his throat.

“Professor Snape, we were reading the pamphlets you left with us yesterday and we have a number of questions.” Severus nodded for him to continue, eager for the change in subject. “To begin with, you told us that there are for Houses at Hogwarts. Can you tell us a bit more about them? The brochures only mentioned Gryffindor…”

“That is because the people who wrote the brochures were all in Gryffindor and, as a rule, Gryffindors suffer from an excess of House pride.” Severus smirked. There was absolutely nothing in the Ministry’s rules and regulations that said he couldn’t talk about _this_. “The four Houses at Hogwarts are Slytherin, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, and Gryffindor. Each House was named after one of the four Founders of Hogwarts and each House strives to embody the qualities that their Founder deemed to be most valuable.”

“And what are those qualities?” Lillian Granger had her chin in her hand and looked absolutely fascinated.

“Slytherin tends to attract those with great ambition and those who prize subtlety and cunning. Ravenclaws tend to be known for their love of knowledge. Hufflepuffs are renowned for their loyalty and their work ethic, while Gryffindors…” Severus paused, thinking carefully about his next words. It would not do to disparage the Gryffindors—far better to damn them with faint praise. “Gryffindors have a reputation for bravery.”

“Would I be correct is assuming that you were a Slytherin when you were in school?” David’s smirk told Severus that the man was onto his attempts at manipulation.

“I was. I am also the current Head of House Slytherin.”

“What does that mean?” Hermione had finished her food, though Severus was pleased to see that she was still taking sips of her pumpkin juice. 

“It means that I am responsible for overseeing the Slytherin dormitories and attending to any matters that might arise when those in my House are not in class.” All three Grangers nodded. Hermione looked thoughtful.

“How will I know which House to go to?” Severus checked his instinct to tell the girl that she was a natural Ravenclaw. He had seen far too many examples of students bending or breaking under the pressure of others with regards to the Sorting.

“On your first night at Hogwarts, you will participate in a ceremony known as the Sorting. When that is complete, you will know to which House you belong. I will not give you details, as it is a long-standing tradition to keep the exact nature of the Sorting a secret from new students, but I will give you one word of caution. While the Gryffindors are, perhaps, more…vocal about it than the other Houses, you will find that most witches and wizards believe _their_ House to be superior to all others and they will attempt to persuade you to their way of thinking. Your personal preferences will be taken into account, but in my experience, those who approach the Sorting with an open mind and allow the magic to do it work almost never have cause to regret it, even if they do not end up where they expected.”

“That’s good advice.” David murmured. Severus nodded his acknowledgement and was then struck by an impulse to offer more.

“You ought to keep something in mind when thinking about the Hogwarts Houses. The first is that each of the House traits I mentioned can, if taken to an extreme, become a vice rather than virtue.”

“Excessive bravery becomes recklessness.” Lillian was scribbling furiously in her notebook.

“Indeed. Pursuit of knowledge for its own sake can lead to a lack of empathy. Excessive loyalty can be quite destructive when misplaced…”

“And ambition?” David was grinning. “What’s wrong with ambition?”

“Nothing at all…” Severus gave a disdainful sniff at the other man’s snort of laughter “so long as it is tempered with good judgement. You should also remember, Miss Granger, that each House is made up of individuals just like yourself. You possess traits that all four of the Founders would have prized, as do all your classmates. You will hear a great deal—both positive and negative—about each House and its members, but you should strive to avoid judging individuals by how they were Sorted when they were eleven.”

“I take it, then, that the House Hermione is Sorted into will have an impact on her life after Hogwarts.” Severus was, once again, impressed by the way in which David Granger’s mind worked.

“It will. There is an unfortunate tendency towards generalization in our society. The actions and character flaws of a few are ascribed to all bearing the same label. Certain…stereotypes are generally accepted about the members of each House and those tend to follow one after graduation.”

“For example..?” Lillian prompted. Severus saw that Hermione was absorbing everything he had to say, her eyes wide.

“Many people assume that cunning is a synonym for sneaky or underhanded. Slytherins have a reputation for using any means to achieve their goals, regardless of legal or moral considerations. If a Slytherin achieves a position of authority in the Ministry, there are those who will assume that he or she did so through illicit means, regardless of any evidence to the contrary. Those same people will never suspect of Hufflepuff of using those same means because of that House’s reputation.”

“Are there negative stereotypes about Hufflepuff?” Hermione asked, worrying her bottom lip with her too large front teeth.

“Unfortunately, yes. You will find, Miss Granger, that witches and wizards are rather lazy. They do not have the same respect for hard work and patience as they do for courage, bravery, or ambition. Hufflepuff Is often regarded as the House that takes everyone who was not ‘good’ enough to get into the other three Houses.” Severus wasn’t quite sure why he was saying all this, but now that he’d started, he couldn’t seem to stop. “Overall, Ravenclaws and Gryffindors have the best reputations outside of Hogwarts, but they receive unearned praise just as often as Slytherin and Hufflepuff receive unearned scorn.”

“How so?” David Granger wore an intense expression that Severus couldn’t quite fathom. He was, once again, tempted to try and read the man’s thoughts, but managed to resist.

“As I said, Ravenclaws are known for their intellectual prowess. People have a tendency to assume that they are experts, whether or not they have demonstrated any real knowledge or expertise. Some former Ravenclaws trade on this reputation in order to spout utter nonsense but, because they were Ravenclaws, they are taken quite seriously. Gryffindors, meanwhile, are seen as being natural leaders and, in recent years, there are some who have taken the view that the virtues ascribed to Gryffindor and the virtues ascribed to Slytherin are…incompatible.” David and Lillian exchanged a glance, which went unnoticed by her daughter, who looked puzzled.

“Forgive me, Professor, if this is a rude question, but are you a muggleborn?” David asked. Of the three Grangers, his reaction to the sickly-sweet taste of the juice was the most minimal, although Severus did notice that, unlike his wife and daughter, he did not drink any more during the meal.

“I am what is known as a half-blood. My mother was a witch and my father was a muggle and I was raised in the muggle world. Though I was told about the existence of magic as a child, it was not part of my daily life until I went to Hogwarts.” The Grangers nodded. 

“So, a witch or wizard with muggle parents is a ‘muggleborn.’” Hermione said the word carefully, as if testing its movement across her tongue. “And a witch or wizard who has one magical parent and one muggle parent is a ‘half-blood.’ What do you call a witch or wizard who has two magical parents?” Too late, Severus realized the trap that the girl had unwittingly set for him. He took a bite of sausage to give himself time to think of an answer to that question that would give the Grangers the information they needed, yet not get him in trouble with the Ministry.

“A person with magic is a witch or a wizard, regardless of their parentage.” He said, finally. “Because you grew up in a non-magical household and our habits and customs will seem strange to you—as will yours to anyone who grew up in the magical world—you may be referred to as a muggleborn, simply as a way of acknowledging that others should not take for granted that you have the same knowledge and experience they do.” 

Thankfully, the Grangers did not press the issue, though from the way both David and Lillian’s eyes narrowed and the slightly worried look on Hermione’s face, Severus knew that they were aware he hadn’t told them everything. By this time, everyone had finished eating and Hermione and her mother excused themselves to freshen up before their departure, leaving Severus alone with David. The other man watched the women in his life vanish into the washroom, a bemused smile on his face.

“Professor, I can’t help but notice that you never did answer my daughter’s question.” He said, his voice loose and easy, and his lips still quirked in a half smile. “I, for one, would be very interested in knowing what a witch or wizard who is born to magical parents is called.” Severus considered the man, carefully, then came to a decision. He took a swift glance around the pub to ensure that there was no one close enough to hear them, then, keeping his voice so low that he was sure the other man would have to strain to hear him, he replied.

“A witch or wizard whose ancestors have been entirely magical for at least the last three generations is known as a pure-blood.”

**

**CHAPTER 2**

(From _A Preliminary Survey…_ )

**Animals**

Everywhere one looks in British magical society, one will encounter an animal. Many animals are completely non-magical in nature and are the same as those with which non-magical people are already familiar. However, it is theorized, though has yet to be studied or proved, that prolonged exposure to magic enhances the natural qualities and abilities of non-magical animals, making them more intelligent, hardier, healthier, and more long-lived than those that live exclusively in the non-magical world.

There are a number of animals that are, at least in some part, magical in nature. While it is beyond the scope of this report to discuss these in depth, it is important to note that many magical animals serve important functions within wizarding society. In this section, we will examine the role of the _familiar_ with respect to the individual and to society at large. (Note: those interested in learning more about magical animals would be well advised to read _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ by Newt Scamander. Mr. Scamander is recognized as the world’s leading magizoologist and the book is both informative and fascinating.)

Just as witches and wizards can form magical bonds with one another (see: **Marriage Bonds** , **Fealty Bonds** ), they can forge a magical connection with an animal. Once this bond is forged, that animal becomes known as their familiar. The bond creates a mental and emotional link between the animal and the witch or wizard, which results in greater awareness and understanding of each other’s needs and circumstances. The bond does not permit direct communication, such as speech or some sort of telepathy, but observation and experimentation has demonstrated that a familiar and its humans are able to ‘hear’ and understand one another quite clearly, even without any outward signs of communication. There is a great deal of speculation about the benefits of the bond to each party, and some research has been done, but many questions remain. At this time, it Is known that the untimely death of a familiar or outside interference with the bond can cause lasting psychological and emotional damage to the witch or wizard. Because of this, the ICW includes the familiar bond on its list of “Sacred Bonds” and all member states are required to enact legislation to protect it.

A familiar bond is always initiated by the animal. According to multiple sources (including _Familiar Bonds: The Truth Behind the Magic_ by Newt Scamander), it is impossible for a human to initiate a familiar bond. Both the I.C.W. and the BMoM prohibit witches and wizards from making the attempt.

**

_December 10, 1990_

“So, what’s on the agenda today?” David asked, as he watched his daughter carefully tap the bricks with her wand. As was now customary, she handed the slender piece of wood to him once the wall opened, and he slipped it into his satchel.

“It depends.” As they began to make their way down Diagon Alley, David saw that Hermione’s eyes were flickering back and forth, observing and evaluating. “It looks like there’s a lot more people here than usual, so I don’t think I’ll be able to spend too much time doing interviews today.” Making his on quick evaluation of the Alley, David had to agree.

“I think you’re right.” Generally speaking, they preferred to make their visits to Diagon Alley on weekdays, when many of the shops were empty and clerks and owners alike were happy to alleviate the boredom of their days by talking to a curious Muggleborn. However, there were certain advantages to coming when the Alley was more crowded. “I suspect that we’re seeing the beginnings of the holiday rush.” Hermione nodded.

“I do want to stop in and see Mr. Ollivander. Last week, he said he was getting a new shipment of wand holsters from Germany and that if I wanted to see them, I had to come before they sold out. Mummy asked me to stop in at Featherstone Books and pick up some more owl order forms and I want to go into the Magical Menagerie and look around.” David nodded in approval, pleased that this would be a reasonably brief excursion.

As much as he hated to admit it, David Granger felt extremely uncomfortable every time he ventured into the magical world. He had given the matter a great deal of thought and discussed it with his wife, who felt much the same way. He had come to the conclusion that his unease was not due to the mere fact that magic was very real and that an entire society of people who could use magic existed, hidden under the noses of most of their neighbors and countrymen. No, what really bothered him was his keen awareness that most witches and wizards saw him as an outsider…and it was clear that this society did _not_ like outsiders.

In all his time as an anthropologist, David could not recall every encountering such a sense of omnipresent hostility before. No one ever said anything, of course—they wouldn’t—but David hadn’t missed the dirty looks or the way some of the shopkeepers watched his every move, as if afraid he was going to steal something. It had been Garrick Ollivander, the wandmaker, who had explained it to him.

“People raised in the magical world do not have the same relationship to history that Muggles do.” The old man had given David a small smile as he’d poured out a cup of tea. They were in the back room of the wand shop, passing the time while waiting for Hermione and her mother, who had decided to make a “brief” detour at Flourish and Blotts. “They tend to take it very…personally.”

“In what way?”

“We tend to…I suppose you might say that we give more weight to it than is, perhaps, good for us…or our history.” Seeing David’s look of confusion, Mr. Ollivander gave him a sad smile. “Tell me something, Mr. Granger. Were any of your relatives or ancestors in the military during the last great Muggle war? ‘World War Two’, I believe you call it.” David nodded.

“Yes. My father and his two brothers all served, as did a number of other men in my family. I’m actually named for my uncle, who was killed in action before I was born.”

“Now, let me ask you this. Do you hate the Germans? Are you afraid of them? Not the ones who fought in the war, mind, but the ones who are alive right now, going about their ordinary lives, completely unaware of your existence.”

“Of course not! Why should I? They’ve never done anything to me…”

“Do you think you would feel differently if, say, your father had been killed? Or someone you knew and cared about?” David thought about this for a moment.

“I suppose.” He nodded. “Though I’d like to think I wouldn’t blame an entire society for the actions of one individual or a government.”

“Ah.” Mr. Ollivander looked strangely satisfied. “That is where our societies differ. You see, many witches and wizards blame Muggles— _all_ of them—for actions taken by a few, hundreds of years ago. 


End file.
